Pseudo
by Cheryl Dyson
Summary: Harry is not quite himself after hanging out at a pub with Neville to catch up on events. Enter Draco Malfoy, drunk, amorous, and oh-so-interested in not-Harry. MATURE CONTENT EVENTUALLY, I'M SURE.
1. Chapter 1

It was nearly closing time when Draco Malfoy crashed back into Harry's life. It had been a quiet night up until that point. Harry had gone to an out-of-the-way pub with Neville to catch up on news of Hogwarts. Both of them had been incognito, with Neville nipping from a bottle of Polyjuice Potion throughout the night. He was nearly as recognised as Harry, much to Harry's amusement, and when they were together they were often hounded for photos or autographs.

Harry had draped himself in several layers of the Auror Departments latest Disguise Charms, and now sported mussed dark brown hair and blue eyes. His glasses were his own, a nondescript pair of golden wire frames with delicate scrollwork near the hinges. They were his backup pair, as he preferred his sturdy dark frames for work. The scar that generally drew attention was gone, replaced by a shock of green in his hair. That had been Ron's idea. "Give them something to remember and they'll recall little else about you. It's great for going unnoticed."

Neville had called it a night and gone home while Harry had remained behind, drawn into a conversation about the history of racing brooms with the grizzled barkeep. He was nursing his final drink, pleasantly buzzed, when Malfoy barged through the door with a loud, "Firewhiskey for everyone!" He was trailed by Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theo Nott, and a girl Harry only vaguely remembered from Hogwarts. Another Slytherin.

A pleased shout from the scattered patrons answered Malfoy's words and Harry blinked as Malfoy shoved onto the seat next to Harry's and dumped a handful of Galleons onto the bar. He smiled brightly at Harry as he did so and it took Harry a surprised moment to remember he was in disguise.

"Hello," Malfoy said, drawing out the last syllable.

Harry smiled, bemused at Malfoy's obvious inebriation. His grin was a definite improvement over his usual sneer and air of obnoxious superiority. Malfoy's hair was slightly out of place and one lock dropped over his forehead and snagged in his pale lashes. "Hi," Harry returned.

Malfoy looked around with exaggerated care. Brad, the barkeep, placed two Firewhiskeys on the bar before them and winked at Harry before heading off to supply the rest of the house.

"Here all alone?" Malfoy asked.

"Not anymore," Harry replied, trying on a soft Scottish accent he'd been perfecting. He took in Malfoy's attire; he wore a black, vaguely piratical, shirt and dark grey trousers. The shirt was open to disclose a bit of black metal on a silver chain; the dark portion of the yin-yang symbol.

Malfoy's gaze sharpened and seemed to fix on Harry's mouth. "What's your name?"

"That's not important, is it?" Harry winked and took a drink of his Firewhiskey. He wasn't drunk, having spent most of the evening nursing two bottles of ale.

Malfoy leaned close, nearly falling from his seat and jostling Harry with his shoulder. The Firewhiskey sloshed over the rim and onto Harry's Puddlemere t-shirt.

"Oh shite, I'm sorry," Malfoy said and patted at Harry's shirt, smearing the droplets more firmly into the fabric. Harry set the glass on the counter to avoid more spillage. "Want me to suck that off for you?"

The words sent a near-electric shock through Harry's core and he stared into Malfoy's silvery eyes in amusement. "A think a Cleaning Charm might be more effective, but I thank you for the offer."

Malfoy's hand pressed onto Harry's thigh and then squeezed lightly. "I'll suck something else off, if you'd like."

Harry's libido leaped at the words and the resulting images slammed into his brain. Holy fuck, the thought of Malfoy on his knees… Harry was rapidly losing control of the quickening length in his pants, which hardened further as Malfoy's hand glided closer to his crotch.

Harry's hand dropped over Malfoy's halting his progress. "I think you might hate yourself in the morning if you do that."

Malfoy shrugged. "I hate myself most of the time, anyway. Come and dance with me." He gripped Harry's hand as he left the stool, tugging him to his feet.

Harry allowed himself to be dragged onto the tiny dance floor. Music wheezed from a converted Muggle jukebox that looked to have resided in the same spot since the 1950s. It probably had.

A modern wizarding dance tune thudded a jazzy beat into the air and a single, tenacious couple gyrated in front of the jukebox, all groping hands and slow kisses. They had been at it for hours and the witch had lost her shoes sometime previous.

Malfoy wrapped himself around Harry and then made a surprised sound when his groin encountered Harry's erection. "Well, well, and here I thought you weren't interested."

"I never said that," Harry admitted and closed his eyes with a groan. Malfoy grabbed his hips and rocked into him, meeting hardness with hardness. _Bad idea_, Harry's conscience warned frantically. _Very bad idea!_

Parkinson bumped into Harry partway into the dance, which was less of a dance and more of Malfoy grinding against Harry and nibbling on his neck. Harry was rapidly losing control under the assault.

"I hate to interrupt, _Draco_," Parkinson said, "but could I please speak to you for a minute?" She gave Harry a smile, surprising him. He hadn't known she could smile like a regular person. Harry stepped back, escaping Malfoy's pout and clinging hands with effort.

"No," Malfoy said. Harry nearly groaned aloud at how bloody adorable he was. Evil Slytherin git be damned, tonight he was hot as hell, sexy, drunk, and obviously more than willing to spend some time getting to know Harry. Except that he wasn't Harry.

"I'll go finish my drink," Harry said, almost relieved at the opportunity to try and clear his head. Even if Malfoy Apparated them away to a more private location and pounced on Harry, he couldn't allow it to progress. Malfoy had no idea who he really was. It was dishonest. Plus, Malfoy was ridiculously drunk.

"Two strikes," Harry muttered as he returned to the bar. Three, if he counted the fact that Malfoy hated him, at least when he wasn't wearing a disguise. He sat down and took a gulp of his abandoned Firewhiskey.

Brad smirked at him. "Looks like you might not be going home alone tonight."

Harry shook his head sadly. "Not with that one. He hates me, although he doesn't remember that right now."

"Fine line between love and hate, mate."

Harry snorted and tossed back the last of the alcohol. He needed to get home and forget about Malfoy, although probably after a long, very long, wank session. He nearly choked when Parkinson appeared at his elbow.

"Hi," she said.

"Um… hello?"

She smiled at him again; she was almost attractive when she did that, although it was possible the Firewhiskey was finally hitting him. "Look, you seem like a decent bloke…"

"But stay away from your friend?" Harry finished for her. "Don't worry. I wasn't planning to take advantage of his current… Well, it's obvious he's rather out of it."

"No, that's not it." Parkinson bit her lip. "Well, we're taking him home, so that's neither here nor there, really, but I wanted to…" She leaned closer and tucked a slip of paper into the waistband of Harry's jeans. "This is his address. In case you wanted to drop by when he's sober. Of course, if he changes his mind about you later, you didn't get that from me." Her dark eyes bored into his for a moment and then she returned to the others. Malfoy was draped over Zabini, but his eyes were on Harry. Impulsively, Harry smiled and blew him a kiss. Malfoy's face lit up like a star gone nova and he snatched the imaginary kiss from the air and clasped it to his heart.

"I love you!" Malfoy shouted.

"Bloody hell, let's get him home before he does something even stupider," Zabini growled. Parkinson ducked under Malfoy's other arm and they tromped out.

Harry chuckled. Malfoy was certainly an interesting drunk.

"Bad luck, mate," Brad said.

Harry nodded, but he took the address from his waistband and tucked it into his pocket as he stood up. Parkinson's disclosure was curious. Everyone knew that Draco Malfoy was involved with a Kenmare Kestrels Chaser named Roderick Montoya. The papers had exploded with the news, avidly reporting everything from the couple's whirlwind romance to the reactions of Montoya's teammates to the (surprisingly calm) response from the elder Malfoys.

The Prophet seemed particularly enamoured of them and every tempestuous moment had been accompanied by photographs and speculation. There were jokes aplenty about Roderick's "rod" and Malfoy's penchant for "wood." By all accounts, they were blissfully happy and the gossip columns had been eagerly awaiting a proposal from one of the other.

Now, though, Harry wondered. Why would Parkinson give a stranger Malfoy's address if she knew things were serious between Malfoy and Montoya? Was it possible she wasn't fond of Montoya? Or did she have darker, more Slytherin, motives?

Shaking off his speculation, Harry pushed away from the bar, bid Brad a goodnight, and Flooed home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite knowing it was a terrible idea, and after hours of trying to talk himself out of it, Harry found himself standing before the door to Malfoy's house. It was a surprising place from the outside, vaguely similar to Grimmauld Place, but formed of attractive blocks of cement-grey. A small, Georgian style overhang, complete with pillars, covered the stoop and protected Harry from the rain as he lifted a hand to the serpentine dragon knocker. He rapped loudly.

It took a couple of attempts and Harry began to think Malfoy wasn't home when the door opened. Malfoy's jaw went agape.

Harry lifted his hand in an awkward half-wave. "Hi."

"How did you…?"

"I'm not a crazy stalker, I promise. In fact, I'm… not even sure why I'm here." Confronted with Malfoy's surprised-and less than welcome-expression, Harry realised it had been a bad idea. What had he expected, honestly? That Malfoy's drunken declaration of love had been real? He cursed himself for complete idiocy and stepped back, intending to Apparate home and never think of Malfoy again.

"Wait!" Malfoy reached out, stepping through his doorway. He didn't quite touch Harry, but he smiled. His feet were bare. "I'm sorry, I… Come in. I'm not always a wretched host. I think. I don't get many visitors, to be honest."

"I shouldn't have dropped in. You probably don't even remember me."

"Oh, I remember you." Malfoy's voice dropped into a low, seductive range, and just like that Harry recalled why he hadn't been able to talk himself out of the trip. Despite everything, Malfoy was very much someone Harry would like to get to know, even if he had to remain disguised to do so. "I'll make some tea."

Malfoy turned and walked inside. Harry followed and shut the door behind them. He only watched Malfoy's arse for a moment-clad in slate-green trousers that displayed it _quite_ nicely-before his attention was diverted by the décor. Malfoy's house was, frankly, a shock. It was cluttered.

A low table sat between two sofas, covered with assorted magazines, a plate, two teacups, and a black shoe partially hidden by a scrap of white cloth. A pair of dark trousers lay draped over one arm of a sofa and the neck of a bottle poked up from between the cushions.

The walls of the room were deep violet, but the pale wood, cream carpet, and multi-coloured upholstery and pillows kept the room from looking gloomy. In fact, it felt homey, lived-in and comfortable.

"Great place," Harry said, admiring a huge bookshelf that took up most of one wall. Assorted crystal vases dotted the room, filled with a variety of items, from flowers to gobstones to a fat ceramic dragon that yawned and flapped its stubby wings when Harry looked at it.

"Thanks," Malfoy said and mumbled a spell that sent the dishes flying out of the room. "I wasn't expecting anyone, so it's a bit of a mess."

"I like it." Harry grinned and hoped he wasn't coming across as a creepy sycophant.

"I'm afraid I don't know your name," Malfoy said and sent the shoe, cloth, and trousers out of the room as well. "Although I assume you know mine."

"Yes. I have to admit I've read about you in the papers. You can call me Mark." Harry had chosen the name at random. It had no relevance to anything in his life and had the benefit of being easy to remember.

"Merlin, you must have _quite_ a number of preconceptions about me if you've taken in half the shite they've printed. And I'm certain my behaviour last night hasn't improved your outlook. Tea." Malfoy tucked his wand into a long pocket on the seam of his trousers and gestured towards a hallway. Harry preceded him into a small kitchen full of whitewashed wood and grey marble.

"I don't believe much of anything written in the Prophet," Harry admitted.

Malfoy used his wand to fill two mugs with water. A tap on the sides of each heated them to boiling and he dropped in a large pinch of loose tea leaves. He gave Harry a speculative look. "So. What brings you here, Mark?"

"I don't know. You seemed interesting and I suppose I was hoping to get to know you better."

"My friends scuppered your chances of that last night, yeah?" Malfoy's tone was rather cold.

"It's not like that. I know you have a boyfriend and you were really pissed last night. I wouldn't have taken advantage." Malfoy lifted a brow and Harry added, "Even though I really, _really_ wanted to." He smiled.

Malfoy snorted, but he seemed to relax. "You just came to talk, then?"

"You can never have too many friends, don't you think?"

"I suppose not." He cast a spell on one mug and the tea leaves rose from the water, spun in the air for a moment, and vanished. "Sugar?"

"Yes, please. Two. How did you do that?"

Malfoy dropped two lumps of sugar and a teaspoon into the mug before handing it to Harry, who looked into the depths. He was amazed to see it leaf-free. He preferred the flavour of loose leaf, but had no patience for fishing out the bits and he was forever losing the tea strainers.

"That old spell? Just something I came up with on my own."

"Clever. Can you teach me?"

Malfoy repeated the spell on the other cup and then added four cubes of sugar. He smiled at Harry. "What are friends for?"

Later, Harry reflected it was the oddest afternoon he'd spent in a long while, standing in Malfoy's kitchen drinking far too much tea and learning a spell to extract tea leaves with his disguised wand. A Fire-call for Malfoy had cut the lesson short, and Harry had made an awkward excuse and headed for the front door.

"Mark," Malfoy had called before he left.

Harry had paused in the doorway.

"Come back tomorrow?"

Harry had smiled and nodded, feeling something strange and warm starting to bloom in his chest.

~TBC~


	2. Chapter 2

Malfoy smiled when he opened the door and Harry grinned back. A canvas tote dangled from Harry's shoulder and he held it out, gripping it by the straps. "I come bearing gifts this time."

"This friendship thing might work out after all," Malfoy said and laughed. It was a glorious sound and their fingers brushed as Malfoy took the tote. The two bottles inside clinked together and Malfoy lifted a brow.

Harry followed him inside and Malfoy placed the tote on the small table before gesturing towards the cupboards. "Make tea?"

Harry nodded and pulled out two mugs before filling them with water. He'd been practicing Malfoy's spell from the day before and thought he'd be able to manage.

"These are quite good vintages, Mark. A princely gift, considering I haven't given you anything."

"Oh, but you did! Now I can purchase all the fancy teas I like, and mix my own concoctions, and never have to worry about straining the leaves through my teeth. In fact, you have quite the selection here." Harry bent down to peer at a row of glass jars that lined Malfoy's countertop. The labels had exotic-sounding names like ASSAM and OOLONG and LAPSANG SOUCHONG. "What do you recommend?"

"Do you like coconut?"

Harry nodded, glancing over his shoulder at Malfoy, who was perusing the label on one of the wine bottles.

"Try that blend on the far right. It's Assam with a hint of Darjeeling, coconut, and vanilla. It's one of my favourites."

"Sounds delicious." Harry added water to the cups, heated it, and tossed in the tea per Malfoy's instructions. It was brilliant with milk and a hint of sugar. Harry closed his eyes as he sipped. He'd never expected to find a new appreciation for tea by pursuing a friendship with Draco Malfoy.

"Do you have a last name, Mark?"

"Of course." Harry smiled, but he was uncomfortable discussing names. He didn't really want to utilise another. "So what do you normally do on a Sunday afternoon, besides drink tea?"

"Nothing very exciting, I'm afraid. Sometimes I read. Polish my broom. Shop with Pansy. Go for walks. Visit mother. Sundays can be dreadfully boring, actually. What do you like to do?"

"Visit friends, mostly. What about your boyfriend? He wasn't listed."

Malfoy took a drink of his tea. "He is usually away weekends. He's in Paraguay until Thursday. Big game."

"So, things are serious with you two?" Harry tried to sound casual, but it was definitely the topic he wanted most to discuss.

"Are you a reporter?"

Harry snorted. "Certainly not. I can barely tolerate reading the paper. I certainly wouldn't write for it."

"What do you do for a living, then?"

"I don't really need to work," Harry said evasively. "Independently wealthy, you might say. And I take it you don't want to talk about Montoya?"

"I only just met you. I don't know your last name. And you could be a someone sneaky and underhanded trying to dig up dirt on me, either to sell for publicity or for some other reason."

"What other reason could there be?"

"Blackmail?"

"I'm independently wealthy, remember? I don't need money."

"So you say, Mark Nameless."

Harry grinned. It was obvious Malfoy wasn't about to talk about his relationship, no matter what, so Harry gave it up. "Do you play chess?"

~o~

After years of playing chess against Ron Weasley, Harry could hold his own on the chess board. He smirked when his white bishop bludgeoned Malfoy's rook until it crumbled into a pile of miniature bricks.

"Not bad," Malfoy said and then chuckled when his knight galloped over to skewer Harry's bishop, who died after a valiant battle. "Just not quite good enough."

"How much do you remember about Friday night? At the pub?"

"I remember I was very drunk and foolishly bought Firewhiskey for everyone in attendance."

"Were you celebrating something?"

"Not really. Theo was in town and that's rare enough now that we tend to go out whenever he shows up. Astoria insisted on tagging along and she carries quite an annoying torch for me. I have to prove to her time and again that I am unrelentingly gay."

"Oh."

"That sounded rather sombre for a single syllable."

"Well, it explains why you… why you were so friendly with me."

Malfoy made a scoffing sound. "That's not the only reason, so stop looking like a kicked Hufflepuff."

Harry perked up. "Well, you did tell me you loved me." He laughed at Malfoy's horrified expression.

"I am never drinking again."

Harry snickered. "You are an adorable drunk. Very affectionate."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco shook his head and tried to remember his behaviour at the pub. Bloody hell, had he honestly shouted those words? A vague recollection returned to him and he groaned as Mark laughed again. Merlin, but he had a beautiful laugh, rich and infectious. And strangely familiar.

"Check, by the way," Mark said as he queen slid onto an empty square.

Draco turned his attention back to the game, but he studied his opponent from beneath his lashes.

"I do remember something about that night," Draco said and felt a flare of satisfaction when Mark blushed. Draco hadn't been referring to their dance, to Mark's grasping hands, delicious erection, or hot, heavy desire, although he was certainly thinking of it _now_ when it was obvious in Mark's blue eyes. _Control yourself_, Draco, he admonished, _you can't trust him_.

"I am referring, of course, to your curiously diminishing Scottish accent."

Mark blinked at him and looked down at the chess pieces that remained. "Oh. Well, it only comes out when I drink. And sometimes when I want to impress a bloke." His gaze snapped to Draco's again and he flashed a grin.

Draco nearly gnashed his teeth. What was it about he man that was so bloody familiar? He was attractive, that was certain. Even in his drunken state, Draco had gravitated straight to his side, drawn like a moth to a flame. Mark's presence had burned brightly in the dim room, all leashed energy and passive power. Even now Draco could sense it, something wild contained in the casual pose, visible only in a single thumb that caressed the teacup's rim in a vague gesture of nervous energy.

"I see. You only turn it on to pull?"

"No! Merlin, no. I'm not much of a… puller. I was only there to catch up with an old friend. I wasn't looking for anyone."

"You don't come across as desperate," Draco admitted, "although I am still perplexed as to why you are here."

"I'm still confused why you let me in, so that makes us even, yeah?"

"Checkmate," Draco said dryly as his queen pulverized Mark's last bishop.

Mark stared at the board. "Shit!"

Draco laughed. Sometimes his responses were refreshingly candid, and at other times they seemed faker than Pansy Parkinson at a formal tea.

"Another game?" Mark asked as the pieces reformed and arranged themselves.

Draco nodded. "And more tea. I'll go and prepare some."

While the leaves steeped in the hot water, Draco thought about Roderick Montoya. In truth, there was nothing stopping him from taking the mysterious "Mark" to bed. Montoya had been a convenient tool that Draco had exploited to the fullest. He had used Montoya's status as a beloved public darling to oil the cauldron for Draco's coming out.

The press had played right into Draco's hands, turning them into a picture-perfect couple. Draco's father had gone through predictable stages of rage and despair, and the whole drama had finally settled into a quiet, rather boring, solidity.

Until recently, when Montoya had begun to make petulant demands and dropping hints that he wanted to end their façade of bliss. Apparently he'd "met someone" and while Draco was perfectly fine with that _no one_ jilted a Malfoy.

Therefore, despite Mark's infinite attractiveness , Draco simply couldn't fall into bed with him. It was imperative that Draco locate a socially suitable replacement for Roderick Montoya before dear Roddie did something stupid.

No, Draco would ride out this "let's be friends" nonsense until he determined what it was that Mark really wanted whilst he searched for a high-status boyfriend to keep the papers at bay. He nodded firmly as he swished the tea leaves into the air and vanished them.

Despite his internal pep talk, Draco's resolve nearly crumbled when he returned to the parlour to find Mark stretched out in a casual pose. One ankle rested atop the other, defining his thighs and calves beneath the Muggle jeans he insisted upon wearing (and when Draco had begun to find those sexy he couldn't say) and his arms were crossed over his chest, highlighting the muscles in his arms most deliciously. The pose also drew Draco's focus to his flat abdomen and Draco had to reprimand himself harshly to avoid crossing the room and straddling the vision of masculine perfection.

_Fucking hell, I want him_, he admitted for one dizzying moment. _Want, want, want!_ His teenaged self rose up in a petulant fit of whining self-indulgence, and then Draco reined in his libido and walked calmly over to hand Mark his teacup.

"Earl Grey this time," Draco said. "You'll need your wits about you for this next match, as I intend to trounce you. Again."

Mark straightened and took the saucer with a bright grin. "Bring it," he said.

~TBC~

AN: I know, this chapter is SHORT so I'll post the next one with it. :D


	3. Chapter 3

"Where have you been?" Hermione asked.

"Out." Harry tried to smile casually, but it was likely his tea-fuelled high made his grin too bright.

"Oh really? Who is he?"

"A man is allowed some secrets, Hermione. Besides, we're just friends."

"I find it hard to believe you would smile like that over a 'just friend,' but I'll leave you be, for now."

"What are you doing here, anyway? I thought it was Weasley family dinner night."

"That's why I'm here. If I'd stayed one more minute I might have hexed that… that _woman _and then Ron would never forgive me." Hermione gnawed on a fingernail. "It might be worth it."

"Hermione!"

"Oh, you know I wouldn't, but Godric, I wish she would put a cork in it. One more word about how Ronnikins prefers this or Ronnikins prefers that and…" she shook her head. "Never mind. I'm here to calm down. Do you have any alcohol?"

Harry blinked at her. Hermione seldom drank. "Are you going back to the Weasley's?"

"No. I escaped by pleading a headache. Which was not a lie, by the way."

Harry went into the kitchen and entered the pantry. He shifted aside a box or two. "Um, I have a partial bottle of cheap vodka and an unopened bottle of rum, quality unknown."

"I'll have the rum."

Harry located some fruit juice to cut the straight alcohol and handed Hermione the glass.

"Join me?"

"I have to work tomorrow."

She grimaced and shuddered as she took a drink. Currant juice may not have been the best mixer for rum. Vodka might have been the better choice. "Me, too."

"I've had enough tea that I think I might float away."

"Really? You've never been much of a tea drinker."

I think I've never had really good tea. Hey! You need to see this spell! It's amazing."

"A spell?"

Thirty minutes later, Hermione had perfected the Tea Leaf Extraction Charm and a pile of empty teabags littered the countertop.

Harry made a mental note to procure some better tea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mondays in the Auror Division were either insanely or dreadfully boring. There seemed to be no middle ground. Harry found himself facing a Boring Monday, so he spent most of the day creating a paper trail persona for Mr Mark Birmingham. It was standard procedure when an Auror went undercover, although Harry had never utilised company resources for personal reasons before. He felt a twinge of conscience or two, but the thought of Malfoy discovering that "Mark" had no existence outside of his house caused him to bury his guilt and hand the paperwork over to the clerk for processing.

She took them with such a look of gratitude that Harry knew she had the Boring Monday blues as well. "I'll get right on this, Auror Potter!" she said with a snappy salute.

"Thank you, Janice."

Harry had barely settled into his chair again when a memo from the Minister's office winged into the room. _**URGENT.**_

Forty minutes later, Harry was back at home, grumbling, and packing an overnight case full of t-shirts, socks, and spare underwear. "Denmark. Bloody hell, nothing ever happens in Denmark."

Once packed, he triggered the Portkey and was whisked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco admitted the strange owl, which laboured into the room on frantically beating wings and then alighted upon Draco's favourite chair. The package it bore was prodigious and the owl looked at him reproachfully.

"Thank you?" he offered.

The beast cocked its head and then turned slightly. Draco took the hint and unbound the package. Inside the wrapping was a shiny box decorated with a bright red ribbon. A card was tucked into the ribbon and Draco freed it before tugging on the satin.

**_I was called out of town unexpectedly. I hope this will allow you to think of me whilst I am gone. I will owl you when I return, hopefully on Friday. ~Mark_**

Draco pouted. Mark was gone? He tore open the box to find it stuffed with a variety of amazing dark chocolates. It was a princely gift. Despite that, he found that he would rather have Mark's company. He had been entertaining and quite pleasant of late. And not at all hard on the eyes.

Draco ate six pieces of chocolate and then forced himself to put the rest away lest he make himself ill. When the sweets were safely hidden, he strode to the fireplace and Flooed to Blaise's flat.

"Bloody hell, Draco, can't you ever announce yourself?" Blaise was sat on his sofa, scrambling to grab something to cover himself.

"Honestly, can't you wank in the bedroom like a normal person?" Draco asked, brushing the residual ash from his sleeves.

"It's my house!"

"Then block your Floo. Too late now, anyway. I need something."

"I need Privacy Charms and better friends," Blaise muttered, but he'd pulled his trousers on and snatched a sofa cushion close before glaring petulantly at Draco.

"Yes, yes, good luck with that. No one will ever love you like Pansy and me. Now, that thing I need…"

"Draco, contrary to your delusions, I do not live to serve you."

Draco stared at him without blinking, long enough that his eyes burned and began to fill with tears. And then he allowed his lower lip to slacken and tremble.

"Damn it, Draco, that doesn't work anymore! Stop manipulating me, you bloody wanker!"

Rather than pointing out the fact that Blaise had been the one wanking, Draco allowed his shoulders to slump as he hitched a half-sob. "You're right," he said, spinning the words into a high tone dramatically, "I'm a terrible person." He stood and walked quickly to the fireplace. "Forget I was here."

"Fuck! Stop. Just stop and tell me what you want."

"No, never mind. I was wrong to ask it of you. I always take advantage of our friendship and you are _always_ the best person to do as I ask without fail. _A true friend_."

"Draco, just tell me."

Draco paused. "Well, only if you're sure…"

"I'm sure." Blaise's tone was ice-coated.

Draco bounced back to his seat, pleased that Blaise was still not quite immune to his machinations. "Here's the thing. I met this man-remember at the club the other night? The hot one sitting at the bar that I danced with and nearly left with except that Pansy spoiled my fun, like usual? Anyway, he came to see me and I don't know anything about him except that his name is Mark and he doesn't know anything about tea and he's terribly cute, but I don't trust him. Can you help?" He gave Blaise his most earnest stare.

"Why didn't you just say that to begin with? A simple person search? You could have _owled_."

"But then I wouldn't have caught you wanking," Draco pointed out with a smirk.

"Want to help?" Blaise leered.

Draco shot to his feet, nose wrinkling. "Merlin, no! I know where that thing has been."

"You are such an arsehole."

"But you love me. Thank you, darling." Draco made a couple of kissing noises in Blaise's direction and practically leaped into the fire before Blaise could yell at him further. If nothing else, curiosity would prompt Blaise into action. All Draco needed to do was wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry popped into his bedroom on Friday evening wanting to do nothing more than sleep for the next three days. Denmark had been exhausting. Boring, but exhausting. Unfortunately, sleep was not on his agenda. He blinked at Ginny Weasley.

"Why are you in my bedroom?" he asked blearily.

"It's about time you got back. You need to hurry. I have your clothes ready, although I gave you a couple of choices, so you'll have to decide on the green or the blue. Now, into the shower with you! There is no time to waste! Gala time!"

Harry groaned. The fucking Gala. He had been hoping to crawl into bed without anyone noticing he'd missed the grand event. Trust Ginny to not only remember, but to show up at his house and force him to attend.

"I'm really tired, Ginny."

"Fourteen minutes and counting."

"Is there any chance of you allowing me to stay home tonight?"

"Not a snowflake's chance in hell. I need a date and you're it. Thirteen minutes."

Harry sighed heavily. Ginny did look nice in her shimmering green robe-dress combination thing. It would be a pity to waste such loveliness. And the way she fingered her wand told him a hex was coming if he suggested not going again.

"Fine. Showering. Just tell me which clothes you want me to wear."

"Well, the green will look nicer with my dress. And don't forget to condition your hair! Maybe it won't do that sticky-uppy thing in the back." Harry closed the bathroom door firmly on any additional suggestions and dove into a quick, hot shower _with_ conditioner.

Twenty minutes later, Harry tried not to roll his eyes as Ginny paraded around him with a critical stare. She finally pronounced him suitable, even if his "sticky uppy bit" wasn't cooperating to her satisfaction.

"Now, before we go, have you seen the Seeker for the Korean team, Dae-Ho Park? The one with eyelashes to die for?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. He's mine, so hands off. The others are fair game."

"Ginny, I am not using the Quidditch Gala as a meat market. I don't even want to go."

"Excellent. Then there will be more for me. Shall we?"

She grinned brightly and took his arm. Harry had to chuckle as he Apparated them away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco suppressed a sigh and hoped his painted-on smile did not appear too fake.

"These canapés are delicious, Draco. You should try one." Roderick popped the bacon-wrapped scallop into his mouth and winked at him.

"It seems to me you would rather eat the waiter," Draco said dryly and took a drink of his champagne. He nearly shuddered at the taste. Cheap and harsh, but at least there were large quantities of the stuff.

"He is a tender-looking morsel, is he not?" Roderick's voice was a purr and his bedroom eyes swept over the fluffy-haired waiter. The boy noticed his perusal and smiled widely, visibly preening beneath the attention of the Quidditch star.

"Keep it in your pants, if you don't mind. And I thought you had 'met someone,' or was that another passing fancy?"

Roderick lifted a brow. "Are you jealous? Do not be. I am merely Latin; it is our nature to flirt."

"We have an agreement, so I will remind you to keep your _flirting_ to a minimum."

Roderick tsked and snared a glass of champagne from a passing tray. "Draco, you wish me to play the attentive lover, and yet you do not make it worth my while."

"What are you talking about?"

"We will discuss it later, _cariño_. This is a celebration, not a time for strife. _Madre de Merlin_, is that the famous Harry Potter?"

Draco, ready to insist upon an argument, glanced at the doorway and took a calming gulp of champagne. Potter and the Weaselette had just arrived, looking every inch the Golden Couple, although they might better be dubbed the Green Couple tonight, dressed as they were in coordinating colours. Potter wore stylish robes of deepest green that would doubtless make his eyes gleam like verdant pools. Draco snorted.

Despite their proximity, Ginny Weasley wasn't clinging to Potter like a choking vine. Draco lost sight of them as the crowd got wind of Potter's presence and clustered up around them, obscuring the hero completely.

"He is even more handsome than his photographs have shown. Is it true that he is willing to play for many teams?"

Draco frowned, trying to suss out Roderick's meaning. Sometimes the accent was impossible to decipher, and sometimes he just got English phrases wro—

"Are you suggesting that Potter is bisexual?" Draco spoke in a tone that only Roderick could hear, although his shock made him want to shout.

"It is rumoured. Are you saying it is untrue?"

Draco stared back at the crowd surrounding Potter. Draco had never heard anything of the sort. And surely Pansy would have filled his ears with such gossip if it were true. Then again, Draco had a terrible habit of tuning her out whenever she got going talking about the shenanigans of her acquaintances and societal hangers-on, so it was entirely possible she had mentioned it and the suggestion had flown under Draco's radar. Then again, any mention of Potter usually caught Draco's attention.

"I don't know. I would have to do some digging."

"I should like to do some digging under those robes." Roderick snickered and Draco jabbed him with an elbow, hard.

"Merlin, Draco, _sos un demonio_."

Draco showed his teeth at Roderick, who gave him a glare and flounced across the room, pushing himself into the group that surrounded Potter. Draco drained his champagne glass and went looking for another. It was going to be a long night.

~TBC~


	4. Chapter 4

Harry fought free of the masses mainly due to Ginny's vigorous application of elbows and bellows—he had to admit she really knew how to handle Quidditch players. She guided them to a quiet corner where Ron and Hermione were stood with Dean Thomas and the head of Magical Games and Sports, Earnest Farnsworth. Earnest shook Harry's hand heartily.

"Harry, my boy! Good to see you! Looks like we'll have a fine turnout this year. Hopefully we'll make enough to offset the cost of all those Portkeys from Korea."

The Quidditch Gala was a fundraising event held each year before the Quidditch World Cup. The most affluent members of wizarding society were invited, as well as a goodly collection of the merely well-to-do, and anyone else that could score a ticket through friends, acquaintances, or bribery.

"Speaking of Korea," said Ginny, "I'm going over there to say hellooooo to the team."

"Remember, they still need to play next week," Harry called after her with a laugh. She poked her tongue out at him.

"You look very nice, Harry," Hermione said and leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek.

"Thank Ginny for that. You look gorgeous! What did you do to your hair?"

"I went to Madam Genevieve's for an up-do. I promised Ron he could buy a new broom in exchange for that and a new dress." She twirled in place, showing off the deep blue satin.

"I think it's win/win for you, mate," Harry said sotto voce and nudged Ron.

"Yeah." Ron smiled, eyes glowing as Hermione blushed. Despite Molly Weasley's "helpful" meddling, Harry suspected it wouldn't be long before Ron popped the question.

"Excuse me, Mr Potter?"

Harry turned, pasting a smile on his face. He felt it freeze in place when he beheld the handsome face of Roderick Montoya—Draco Malfoy's beau. The man was stunning, Harry had to admit. He was an inch or so taller than Harry, with thick black hair (and no sticky uppy bits), gorgeous chocolate eyes, and skin that looked as smooth and lickable as fine caramel. "Yes?"

"I am sorry to interrupt, but I so very much wanted to meet you. Might I be so bold as to shake your hand?"

"Of course. I should like to shake yours, also. That was a brilliant game against Austria. Well played."

Montoya took Harry's hand in a firm grip, shook it once, and then covered it with his other hand, effectively trapping him.

"My teammates have told me of your famed history, but they did not mention that you were so delightful to look upon. Brave and handsome at once. I see why they flock to you in admiration."

Uncomfortable as ever with flattery, Harry fought to keep his smile in place and tugged hopefully at his hand. "You are too kind."

Montoya clucked his tongue. "And look at me, another smitten fanboy. You must get bored of those." He let go of Harry's hand with a smile that might have swept Harry off his feet if not for other circumstances. Blond circumstances.

"By all accounts, you are already smitten with another. Where is Draco Malfoy?"

Montoya's smile fled. "Oh, he is around someplace. Over there." He waved a hand in a vague gesture towards the buffet table. Harry frowned. He hoped Malfoy wasn't in love with Montoya, because Montoya's feelings did not seem to be overly serious, despite speculation in the _Prophet_. In a flash of inspiration, Harry decided to test the theory.

He stepped closer to Montoya. "Does that mean that things between you and Malfoy are not as serious as they appear?"

At that moment, a clustered group of attendees broke apart and Harry caught sight of Malfoy. Montoya glanced at him and then leaned in to whisper into Harry's ear. "My dear Mr Potter, Draco Malfoy has never been serious about love. It is all in good fun with him. I could disappear tomorrow and he would find another fit male to parade as his _amante dedicado_. I would that it were not so, but alas. I must find my one true love elsewhere."

Harry looked back at Malfoy, to find him staring at him and Montoya with such intensity Harry was afraid the glassware in the room might shatter. Harry's heart sank. Montoya might have convinced himself that Malfoy didn't care—or perhaps he was simply a cad—but the evidence suggested otherwise.

_Fuck_, Harry thought, _Malfoy really is in love with Montoya. And he's utterly unworthy_.

Harry smiled brightly and stepped away from the sultry Quidditch player. "Well. You've certainly given me something to think about, haven't you? Do you know Earnest Farnsworth? He is working insanely hard on the Quidditch World Cup. Earnest, this is Roderick Montoya, perhaps you've met?" Montoya and Farnsworth shook hands and Montoya shot Harry a questioning look.

Harry squeezed him on the shoulder in an overly-friendly gesture. "I see someone I need to say hello to. I will see you later." His tone made it a promise. In truth, he was looking for Malfoy, who had disappeared into the crowd.

It took Harry some time to find Malfoy, so long, in fact, that Harry'd begun to think Malfoy had left the party entirely. He finally caught sight of him lurking in the courtyard and started that direction. Getting through the growing crowd was rather like swimming through treacle, considering the number of people that stopped him along the way.

Harry finally extracted himself from a dowager witch wearing a flamingo-topped hat and pushed his way through the open French doors. The fresh air was a welcome change after the cologne and human scented ballroom.

The courtyard was tree-filled and protected from the falling rain by a massive Umbrella Charm. Malfoy was seated on a bench, empty glass dangling from his fingertips. Harry screwed up his courage and went to greet him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco sat on a granite bench and ran his fingers up and down the stem of his empty champagne flute. He had probably imbibed a glass or three too many, judging by the fuzzy state of his mental faculties. He was also feeling a bit sorry for himself. He would cast a Sobering Charm if he could remember how.

He straightened and gave a polite nod to an elderly couple strolling past. The man ignored him and the woman's smile disappeared when recognition set in. Her lips pinched in a disapproving line and her steps quickened until she was practically dragging her escort away.

Draco rolled his eyes. The horrible old bat had no room to look at him that way. Her only daughter had run off to some remote American desert to shack up with a Muggle painter. It had been quite the scandal at the time.

Another crunch of feet upon the gravel path drew Draco's attention. To his surprise, he saw Harry Potter bearing down upon him. Draco knew he should flee, but his inebriated mind was captivated by Potter's lean form. The black-edged green robes fit him to perfection, highlighting his hipbones and accenting the exquisite swell of his torso over a flat, limber-looking abdomen.

Contrary to the grace of his walk, Potter flopped like a rag doll next to Draco and gave him a crooked grin. "Hullo, Malfoy." Draco suppressed a sigh and made to rise and escape, but Potter's hand clamped onto his arm, holding him in place. "What's your hurry?"

"I assume you only came here to gloat, so if you don't mind I prefer to spare myself the additional humiliation."

"Gloat about what?"

Draco threw him a glare and lowered his voice. "About the fact that my lover is currently flinging himself at anything with a cock, including _you_."

"Oh. I did see him practically climbing onto one of the waiters in there. I just figured he was drunk."

Draco relaxed minutely. For some reason, Potter hadn't let go of his arm. "I believe he is cold sober, actually. I, fortunately, am not." Draco lifted his glass as if imploring the gods of drunkenness to refill it for him. "Do you like cock, Potter?"

Draco turned to look into Potter's shocked face and wondered if it might be worth risking a Splinch to Apparate home and escape whatever scathing comment (or possible hex) that Potter planned to unleash upon him for asking such a blatantly stupid question. Draco was gobsmacked when Potter chuckled.

"I can appreciate a fit bloke as well as a beautiful woman, although I admit that I've been more drawn to masculinity."

"I'll say. The women you've been with haven't exactly been paragons of femininity. Speaking of—where is the Weas—Ginevra?"

Potter jerked his chin towards the ballroom. Those inside were clearly visible in the growing darkness overtaking the courtyard. Small, glowing globes of multi-coloured light were beginning to alight amongst the trees and bushes in the garden. Pale blue shimmered over one lens of Potter's dark-framed glasses.

"She's working on British/Korean relations," Potter said.

Draco caught sight of Ginny Weasley clinging to the Korean Seeker and laughing in apparent delight. "That doesn't bother you?"

"Of course not. Ginny and I are just friends, regardless of what the _Daily Prophet_ likes to print."

Draco's head was spinning and he wished he hadn't partaken of so much alcohol. The revelations were coming too quickly for him to process.

"What about you?" Potter continued. "According to the _Prophet_, you and Montoya are practically engaged."

"You can't believe everything you read." Draco looked away as he spoke, glancing back towards the ballroom. Roderick was not behaving like a boor, for once. He was talking to one of his teammates.

Potter cleared his throat and when Draco looked back, he was sitting straight and staring at Draco intently. Draco's eyes went wide as Potter lifted a hand and brushed a lock of hair away from Draco's eyelashes. He leaned close.

"You know, it is possible that you deserve better," Potter murmured. His eyes seemed to burn into Draco's, not green in the near-darkness, but dark pools that seemed to focus his concentration. Draco nearly forgot to breathe.

"Draco! There you are! I have been looking for you everywhere! Diana is very cross with me for allowing you to wander off and I have promised to bring you to her at once." Roderick's voice was loud and his accent more pronounced than usual. Draco wanted to pull out his wand and hex his faux-lover for his lousy timing. Draco was itching to know what Potter had meant with his words.

"Mr Potter, you are not trying to steal my paramour, are you?" Roderick dropped a possessive hand upon Draco's shoulder. "Also, Draco, your friend Blaise has arrived with that _woman_."

"Oh thank Merlin," Draco said and rose, stepping away from Potter's magnetic aura. He suddenly felt very drunk and wanted one of Pansy's Sobering Charms. He needed to think. Before he allowed Roderick to tug him close and pull him away, he paused. "Thank you, Potter."

"My pleasure, Draco." Potter's words did not seem mocking.

Once inside, Roderick clung to Draco like a barnacle, in direct contradiction to his earlier behaviour. It was baffling, but at least things were back to normal. Attending photographers took several photos of them standing together, dancing, and holding up glasses of champagne that Draco studiously refused to drink.

It took all of Draco's wiles to extract himself from Roderick's embrace and spend a private moment with Pansy and Blaise. He stood in grateful silence as Pansy zapped him with a Sobering Charm. After a bout of queasiness, Draco's drunken state melted away, leaving welcome clarity behind.

"Salazar, I am giving up alcohol for good. Blaise, do not respond to that. Have you learned anything about my friend Mark?"

Blaise shook his head. "The pub was a dead-end. The barkeep did not know either Mark or his friend—he hadn't seen them there prior to that night and didn't even catch their names. We've got nothing to go on unless you get something more from Mark. A least a bloody surname."

"It doesn't matter. Mark seems content to be nothing more than a mate. He doesn't even ask questions." Draco shook off a twinge of disquiet and pushed all thoughts of Mark away. Now was not the time. "Pansy, you'll be happy to know that Roderick is done. I'll be sending him on his way to make room for his replacement."

Pansy squealed and then lifted a hand to cover her mouth when it rose in volume. She pulled her palm away to gush at him. "Oh, Draco, I could kiss you! When are you going to tell him? Can I be there to watch you grind his ego into powder? Who is the lucky man taking his place?"

Draco smiled fondly. She had disliked Roderick from the first moment of their meeting, and the feeling had been mutual. Even so, Draco doubted she would be pleased with his new target.

"A person of impeccable social standing," he said. "Harry Potter."

Later, Draco was almost completely sure that Pansy's faint was faked.

~TBC~

AN: For the curious, Roderick is half-Portuguese, hence the language.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry knocked on Draco's door and smiled uncertainly when Draco flung it open and dragged him inside by a solid grip on his arm.

"Mark, I'm glad you're here. I would have sent you an _owl_ requesting your presence, but since you never gifted me with your last name, that wasn't possible. I received a new shipment."

"It's Birmingham. A new shipment of what?"

"Birmingham?" Draco stopped just inside the kitchen and blinked at him.

"My surname. I should have told you before. A shipment of what?"

Draco frowned, obviously mulling the name over in his head and likely trying to match it to anyone he had ever known. At last he shook his head and turned away.

"Tea, of course. A special delivery from Africa. I am thinking of blending it with the ginger, or perhaps a bit of rose." Draco chattered on and opened several jars of tea leaves. Harry did not bother to suppress a grin. Somewhere between the mind-boggling question the previous night (do you like cock, Potter) and Harry's early-morning wank session, "Malfoy" had become "Draco" in his mind and he couldn't seem to shake it. In fact, Draco's behaviour was only reinforcing it. The buttoned-up, public version of Draco Malfoy was gone and Harry much preferred this one, with his bare feet and casual jumper, and the relaxed smirk he sent Harry's way as he heated water without half trying.

"How was the Quidditch thing last night?"

"Stuffy and boring, as usual, but at least it's for an excellent cause. Orphans and war reparations are well and good, but Quidditch-now, that's important."

Harry laughed. "Indeed." He accepted the cup Draco held out and lifted it to breathe in the delicate aroma.

"Well?" Draco asked as he took a drink.

Several cups and two games of chess later, Harry impulsively said, "Come to dinner with me tonight."

Shutters dropped over Draco's eyes, quick as a door slamming.

"Not like a date!" Harry said, scoffing. "I know you and _Roderick_ are blissfully in love. I saw the photos in the Prophet this morning. I just want to take you to dinner. As a thank you for all the tea, or something. It will be fun. In fact, I dare you."

"You dare me?" Both pale brows rose. "That seems a bit extreme."

"You don't know where I plan to take you."

"Well, now I am curious."

"Curious enough to trust me?"

There was a long pause, enough to highlight the fact that Draco did not, in fact, trust him at all, but at last he nodded. "I suppose. What shall I wear to this mystery dinner?"

Harry's grin widened as something loosened in his midsection. He felt almost giddy, a sensation that had propelled him out of bed and set him on his current path, although he was probably being ridiculous. He simply wanted to spend more time with Draco.

"How about if I send you something to wear? And you can always refuse to go."

"You plan to purchase my clothing for this venture?"

Harry laughed aloud at Draco's growing bafflement. There was a good chance Draco would decline his invitation when he discovered what Harry had in mind, but Harry hoped his competitive nature would win in the end. He nodded.

"I can hardly say no to new wardrobe items, as long as you promise they won't be anything garish."

"Oh no. Tasteful items only."

"Very well. I will agree to this madness, at least for now."

"Great!" Harry shot to his feet. "Merlin, I've got to get shopping! How about if I come back here at, say, seven o'clock? That will give you time to dress." _And probably explode, and possibly hex me_, Harry added to himself.

"All right. I will see you then."

Harry gave him another grin, tapped a finger to his forehead in a salute, and left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door had barely closed behind Mark when Draco hurried to the desk and scribbled a quick note. He sent his owl winging away to Blaise.

_**Mark Birmingham. Get me everything you can as soon as possible.**_

As soon as possible turned out to be three hours later. Blaise sat across from Draco and sipped at spiced vanilla-peach tea, holding his head up with one hand by an elbow propped on the table.

"There isn't much," Draco said as he frowned over the spread of papers.

"He's loaded, hot, and actually seems to like you. What more do you want?" Blaise added another spoonful of sugar to his tea and yawned.

Draco could not answer. Blaise had dug up facts and figures gleaned from probably less-than-above-board means. Mark Birmingham was the part owner of a dozen profitable ventures, including Quidditch apparel, spice and rare potion ingredient import, an art gallery, and high-end glass manufacture. Blaise was certain there were others; those were merely the things he'd located with a quick search.

"So he looks good on paper-"

"And in person," Blaise added.

"-but why have we never heard of him? With his Galleons, he should have been at the Quidditch Gala-hell, at all the galas. How has he eluded the Seeker all this time? You said Pansy doesn't know anything about him?"

"She didn't recognize the name at all, from what I could get out of her before she shrieked at me and threw me out of her bedroom. You owe me extra for that, by the way. The bitch throws a mean Stinging Hex, even when she's half-asleep." He sent Draco a petulant-looking pout.

"It doesn't make sense."

"For Salazar's sake, Draco, why don't you just ask the man?" Blaise pushed his teacup aside and dropped his head into his arms.

"Oh no you don't. Mark is coming back soon. No sleeping in my kitchen."

Mark returned several minutes before the appointed hour, bearing several mysterious parcels and paper shopping bags emblazoned with names Draco did not recognise. He waved Draco into the bedroom-Draco pretended not to notice the way Mark's eyes took in the room-and then he unpacked his purchases. As the items were placed upon the bed, Draco understood Mark's earlier glee.

"You bastard," he breathed. "These are Muggle clothes!"

"We can't wear robes to a Muggle restaurant." Mark's impish smile burst forth and Draco struggled not to return a smile. Mark's good humour was infectious.

"What did I ever do to you to deserve such torture?"

"Well…" Mark seemed to consider the question and Draco decided he would rather not know. He was afraid "leading him on" might be on the list of grievances and his mind returned to that night at the pub, and the feel of Mark plastered against him, warm and willing. And then Draco had abandoned him to return to his alleged boyfriend. Draco supposed he deserved a bit of Muggle penance.

"Never mind. I am certain everyone in the world could answer that question in one fashion or another."

"Don't act like I'm taking you to the gallows. The food will be worth a little wardrobe discomfort, I promise you. Now, put on these trousers and we'll see if everything fits."

~o~

Despite all of the bizarre-looking Muggles in the room, Draco's gaze kept wandering across the table to Mark, whose blue eyes seemed to gleam with every meeting of Draco's stare. Mark looked bloody gorgeous in a dark blue suit, celestial blue shirt, and a tie with an interesting pattern of blues, greens, and greys. The other Muggles in the room could not compare with Mark for holding Draco's attention.

Strangely, Draco had begun to compare Mark with Harry Potter. Their similarities were remarkable. They seemed to be the same height, build, and temperament, as well as sharing a strange combination of carelessness and grace. Mark had nearly knocked over his wine glass at one point, and then righted it with a lightning-quick movement of his hand. _Seeker's reflexes_, Draco had thought.

"Did you ever play Quidditch?"

Mark shook his head. "Just for fun."

"Why haven't I ever met you before? It's as if you didn't exist before I bumped into you in that pub. No parties, no societal functions, not even a mention in the _Prophet_."

"You've been digging." Mark gave him a "you should be ashamed" look.

"Are you surprised?"

"No. To tell the truth, I've spent the past several years in the United States. New York, Boston, Philadelphia. It's interesting there. Different. The energy is… Well, here all is tradition and resistance to change, and maintaining the old ways. There, it is more frenetic. They are always looking for something new and traditions are either forgotten or maintained merely for entertainment purposes. It can, however, be exhausting."

"So you came home. Or is over there 'home' now? Are you planning to stay?" Draco was both relieved and anxious. America. It would explain Mark's lack of history here, but it might also call him back.

"This will always be home. I just never had much reason to stay before." Mark lifted his glass and took a drink. His eyes met Draco's over the silver frames of his glasses.

Draco felt a rush of emotion and lifted his own glass, hoping to calm the odd racing of his heart. Bloody hell, why was he here, sitting across from an attractive man when he had only last night set his sights on another? He should set Mark free and not keep him dangling, hoping for a crumb of affection in the name of friendship. It was obvious Mark wanted more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry wanted to drown himself in his wine glass. Taking Draco out had been a mistake. With every word that spilled from his lips, Harry was digging himself deeper and deeper into a grave of his own making.

_What are you doing?_ he demanded for the nth time.

The Muggle clothes had been an even bigger mistake. It had taken immense effort to maintain a casual demeanour whilst Draco had tried on the Muggle things Harry had purchased. Every time Draco had emerged from the bathroom in something, Harry'd needed to count to twenty and evoke visions of Flubberworm sex before trusting himself to speak. He had bought far too many outfits, uncertain as to what might tempt Draco into being seen in public wearing.

He had decided on a silver-grey suit with pale grey pinstripes, a multi-buttoned waistcoat, and white shirt with a classic silver tie. He looked so stunning that Harry hadn't tasted a bite of his food; something seemed to have short-circuited inside his brain that allowed him to think of little beyond peeling Draco out of the expensive suit. The fact that he had managed coherent conversation was little less than a miracle.

Sometime during the wee hours of the morning, Harry had concocted a plan to learn more about Draco by using his friendship with Mark. It had seemed harmless enough; Draco had shown that he had no intention of allowing anything beyond friendship to develop with Mark, despite their rather unorthodox meeting.

What Harry hadn't counted on were Mark's growing feelings for Draco. He scowled and reached for the wine bottle to refill their glasses. _His_ growing feelings for Draco. Bloody hell, he was starting to think of himself as two different people. Pretty soon he would have to check himself into the Janus Thickey ward at St Mungo's.

"How is the duck?" he asked, forcing small talk in order to distract himself from his pending insanity.

"As much as it pains me to admit it, I must say it is delicious, as is the asparagus. I bow to your exquisite taste and I apologise for ever doubting you." Draco lifted his glass and held it out to Harry, who clinked it with his and managed not to smirk. The unexpected apology warmed him more than the wine and he realised he was becoming tipsy. Even so, he kept drinking through the entrée and into the dessert course, pleased at Draco's obvious pleasure. He even raved about the Raspberry Millefeuille and stole a bite of Harry's Hibiscus Crème Brulèe. A cup of coffee laced with Irish Cream did nothing to alleviate Harry's well-oiled sensibilities and his head spun when he got to his feet.

"Are you all right?" Draco asked.

"Perfectly," Harry said. "Although I probably shouldn't have had so much to drink."

"Indeed. I suppose we should have given some thought as to how we are returning home. Is it too much to hope for public Floo access nearby?"

The rain-heavy air outside helped to clear Harry's mind, or at least it seemed to. "Not that I know of. We'll have to catch a cab."

"A what?"

Harry stepped onto the pavement near the road, busy with rushing traffic. They were in a tourist-heavy area and the streets would remain congested long into the night.

"Mark! What are you doing?"

"Hailing a cab." Harry lifted his hand in the universal gesture and a black motorcar with a glowing sign above the windscreen zipped to the curb and halted.

Harry beckoned to Draco, who shook his head wildly. "I am _not_ getting into that thing!"

"It's just a car! It won't hurt you."

"You don't know that!"

"I do know that. Come on, I'll protect you." He held out his hand as he opened the door.

Draco looked from him to the driver, who yelled, "I don't 'ave all night, mate!" just as large drops of rain began to spit from the sky. It turned into a downpour in the time it took Draco to dive for the open door of the cab. He shifted over as Harry jumped inside; droplets of water peppered the sleeve of his suit.

The cab pulled back into traffic and Draco hunched in the centre of the seat, eyes wide and hands clenched into fists. Harry sat close to him and then draped an arm around his shoulders, feeling both amused and protective.

"Tufnel Park. Islington."

"Right-o."

As the car sped, slowed, and wove through traffic, Draco drew closer and closer to Harry until he was nearly sitting in his lap. Draco's hair tickled his face and Harry breathed in his clean, citrusy scent. A portion of Harry's anatomy began to sit up and take notice, but Harry wouldn't have pushed Draco away, even if he'd wanted to. His panic was evident, especially in his grip on Harry's thigh. "Relax. It's all right," Harry murmured into his hair, holding him tightly.

"You blokes a couple?" the driver asked, glancing up at the rear-view. "Don't worry, I'm progressive. Me nephew's got himself a man an' 'e's all right."

"Oh, we're…" Harry wasn't sure how to describe them, but Draco stabbed a finger towards the front of the cab.

"Look out!"

The cab swerved and the driver chuckled. "Relax, mate. I saw 'im."

Draco's head sagged back against Harry's shoulder and he stared up as if trying to pick out the sky beyond the cab's roof. Harry glanced down and Draco's eyes were closed. His lips were slightly parted and Harry wanted so very badly to kiss him that by the time his inebriated conscience caught up to his motor controls, it was too late. His lips touched Draco's.

Draco was already tense as a wound spring, so his only reaction was an audible inhale. He did not shove Harry away, however, so Harry eagerly deepened the kiss, pressing his lips more firmly to Draco's and then following them, ever so gently, with his tongue.

The hand on Harry's thigh loosened and then he felt a touch on the lapel of his suit. Draco made a soft sound that was anything but unwilling and Harry tipped his head for better access to the sweet, brilliant kiss that Draco accepted and then delivered back. They tasted one another for a timeless moment and then the cab jolted to a halt, wrenching them apart. Harry flung out a hand to brace them against the back of the seat.

"What the-?"

"Sorry. Red light. I would've run it but for the bobby over there." The driver gestured towards a police vehicle entering the intersection.

There was a flurry of movement and it took Harry a moment to grasp the fact that Draco had opened the door and fled the cab.

Harry pushed himself up and leaped out of the vehicle, blinking into the pouring rain and trying to stave off a wave of dizziness. He saw only a flash of grey as Draco ran into the darkness as if pursued by the hounds of hell.

"Draco!" Harry yelled. He started after him, but the cabbie's sharp cry of, "Hey! The fare!" stopped him. He dug out his wallet and threw some Muggle money into the cab before slamming the door and pelting down the street.

"Draco!" he shouted again, searching the darkness and the pounding deluge.

But Draco was gone.

~TBC~

AN: Um... sorry about the cliffhanger...thing. Not sure how that keeps happening. I'll be over here. *hides*


	6. Chapter 6

Draco Apparated straight into his bedroom and then stood, shaking, in the centre of the room whilst he checked himself for Splinching damage. Nothing hurt, externally, at least, and he considered himself lucky.

He was drenched. Droplets pattered onto his expensive carpet and he stripped off the Muggle suit, knowing it was ruined. He felt a pang at that, thinking of Mark. Mark the _bastard_. Damn the man! Damn him for asking him out and forcing him into a Muggle cab and looking delectable and then _kissing_ him…

Leaving the suit jacket and trousers on the floor, Draco ran to the living room and blocked the Floo. He spent some additional time warding the doors and windows. Drunk or not, it probably wouldn't take Mark long to find a way to get to him. He would, no doubt, be full of apologies and Draco did not want to hear it.

Heart pounding from the exertion and head pounding from too much wine, Draco returned to the bedroom and frowned at the suit. Merlin knew how much it had cost Mark. For Muggle-wear, it was obviously expensive.

Draco picked up the jacket and cast a careful Drying Charm. He would send it out for cleaning and hope for the best. Perhaps the house-elves at the Manor could fix it.

He sighed and dried the trousers before hanging them in his wardrobe with the jacket, and then he removed the waistcoat, tie, and shirt. He sat heavily in the chair before his dressing table and dragged a comb through his wet hair, avoiding his own gaze in the mirror.

The dark yin symbol on his chest seemed to mock him. He wasn't ever sure why he wore it. At times he felt proud of it, as though it symbolised the darkness in his soul, and the fact that he always seemed to be in opposition to all things bright.

At other times, like now, he acknowledged that what it truly meant was that he desperately sought someone to wear its twin. He reached for the other half, the white yang symbol that hung from an ornate silver jewellery tree, nearly hidden amongst the other items, cloak clasps, watch fobs, and chains with medallions and pendants that he seldom wore.

The white enamel glinted in the light and for a moment Draco pictured it on Mark's chest. He winced. Why was he so angry with Mark? He had made it clear from that night in the pub that he wanted Draco; surely it was only natural that he had acted on it?

With a scowl, Draco put the yang pendant back on its hook.

"Because he _lied_," he said aloud, voice sounding petulant in the empty room. "He said he would accept friendship and ask for nothing more."

Draco supposed that was the crux of the matter. He had enjoyed Mark's friendship immensely. He was bloody easy to talk to, relaxing to be around, had a quick wit, laughed at Draco's humour, had exquisite taste when he chose to exhibit it, and…

…and was practically perfect. He was gorgeous and wealthy and kissed brilliantly-Draco allowed himself to reflect on _that_ and felt a bit faint at how bloody wonderful it had been and how long it had been since he'd been so thoroughly, delightfully snogged-he dragged his thoughts back on track. But despite that, something was off about him. Draco not had survived years of the Dark Lord and his brutish, stupid, and sometimes purely evil minions living in his house without learning to listen to his instincts, and those instincts were screaming at him where Mark was concerned.

Mark was hiding something. Draco had no idea what it was, but until he discovered what it was, Draco could not afford to let himself get emotionally entangled. He had accepted Mark's friendship at face value; it was easy to discuss tea and Quidditch, and play chess on lazy afternoons, but kissing and bedding and _dinner dates_ were henceforth off limits.

Feeling steadier, Draco met his stare in the mirror and nodded. His plan was still on track. Harry Potter was an excellent target. Better the devil he knew-and he certainly knew Potter-than the unknown element that was Mark Birmingham.

Despite Mark's assurance that he'd spent the past several years out of the country, it did not explain Pansy's unfamiliarity. Draco would meet with her and double-check the accuracy of her sleepy denial to Blaise, but it seemed highly unlikely that Pansy had nothing on the man. She practically kept cross-referenced dossiers of every eligible bachelor in the United Kingdom, as well as some in France, Spain, Denmark, and Iceland (mainly because she found the primarily-blond Icelandics to be "tasty").

A pounding on Draco's front door announced the arrival of Mark.

"Draco! Are you home?"

Draco rolled his eyes and walked into the other room. He leaned close to the door. "I'm fine. I don't want to talk about it."

"Thank Merlin! I was worried! I just wanted to… I wanted…"

"Go home, Mark. I need to think."

There was a long pause and Draco could practically feel Mark leaning on the other side of the wooden doorway, but at last Mark's voice came through.

"All right. Goodnight, Draco."

"Goodnight."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry went home and debated pounding his head against his bedpost, he swung by the loo first to relieve himself and remembered the Sobriety Potion Hermione had foisted on him the previous New Year's Eve. He hadn't needed it then and now it was about an hour too late.

Still, he drank it down and shivered as the icy effects scoured his bloodstream. He contemplated his reflection in the mirror and scowled when Mark's blue eyes glared back at him through the silvery frames.

Harry cancelled the Disguise Charm and sighed with relief as he returned to himself, wet brown hair growing darker and unrulier. Mark had certainly fucked things up. It would serve him right if Harry never took up his likeness again.

Shaking his head, he wandered into the bedroom, stripped off the damp suit, and collapsed on the bed. Why had he done it?

That was a stupid question. He knew exactly why he had done it. Because Draco Malfoy was bloody irresistible. Harry's tongue grazed over his lower lip and he closed his eyes, imagining he could still taste Draco there.

Merlin, that _kiss_.

He hadn't imagined Draco's response; he was obviously attracted to Mark. If not for the cab stopping when it had, Draco might have… might have…

Harry groaned and flung his glasses aside before he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. What was he trying to accomplish, anyway? Did he really want Draco to fall for Mark? Was he planning to wear a false face and maintain a disguise for the rest of his life? It was ludicrous. And the farther Harry carried the charade, the more enraged Draco would be when the truth finally came to light.

Of course, it was all a moot point, anyway, because Draco was in love with Roderick Montoya. That much was obvious from Draco's escape from the cab. He was attracted to Mark and felt guilty for giving in to a moment of drunken weakness. With luck, Mark could fix it and they could be friends again.

But did Harry want that? He had to remember that he _wasn't Mark_. It would be for the best if Mark Birmingham disappeared forever.

He thought back to the Quidditch Gala and recalled Roderick Montoya flirting with everything that walked. Too bad Harry hadn't been Mark that night or Montoya might have tried something and ended up with more than he bargained for.

Harry sat upright with a gasp, thoughts spinning. Bloody hell, it would be insane, but it just might work. Draco needed to see that Montoya was a faithless cad and he also needed to remove Mark from any "potential" list he might have lying around. It might just be possible to kill two birds with one stone. If Draco caught Mark and Montoya together, he would despise them both.

But first, Harry Potter needed to be there to pick up the pieces.

He lay back on the bed again, gnawing his lip as he invented and discarded scenarios.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Across town, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson sat in the Parkinson dining room whilst house-elves swept away the dinner dishes and brought out a selection of desserts.

"I still think we need to find out more about this Mark Birmingham before we make any definitive plans," Pansy said and wrinkled her nose at the offering of stewed figs. She detested figs and had no idea how Blaise tolerated them.

"Agreed, of course. But you have to admit he seems a better option than Potter, at least if he pans out."

"Anyone is a better option than Potter. What is Draco thinking?"

"He is thinking he will be _alone forever_ and that having a high enough social status will make up for that." He stressed the words in a fair mockery of Draco being dramatic.

Pansy arched a brow at him. "Wise words coming from you, darling."

"Please. I have no fear of being alone; I simply haven't chosen to settle down yet. When that day comes I am sure there will be a sufficient number of the lovelorn to choose from. I might even take in a harem."

"Will there be room for all of them _and_ your ego?"

"You are _so_ funny. But we are discussing Draco, not me."

Pansy smirked. "Fine. Assuming this Mark fellow is suitable, what shall we do about the Potter situation?"

Blaise leaned across the table as though disclosing a secret. "Well, according to Astoria, before we arrived at the Gala, Potter and Roderick shared a bit of a moment. She said it looked like Roddie was ready to crawl directly into Potter's pants and that Potter was not exactly shoving him away."

"Salazar!" Pansy felt like fanning herself for a moment, thinking of Potter and Roderick together. Even though she loathed Roderick Montoya with the heat of a thousand _Incendios_, she had to admit he was gorgeous. And Potter was not hard on the eyes now that he'd filled out and lost that half-starved, waifish look. "How would we accomplish such a feat?"

"Not directly, of course. Any suggestion that we wanted Potter and Roderick together would send Potter straight into Draco's arms just to spite us."

"And when it got back to Draco, he would play the betrayed victim for the next decade."

"Precisely. However, since I became the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts—"

"Really?" Pansy asked, deadpan, "I'd forgotten , since you haven't mentioned it in the past sixteen minutes."

"—I have cultivated certain friendships," Blaise went on as if she hadn't spoken, "and I believe it won't be difficult to bring a certain Herbology professor over to our cause, if I spin it right."

Pansy raised her wineglass in a toast. "I take back some of the horrible things I've said to you tonight, darling, because you are bloody clever."

Blaise flashed a grin at her, the same one that had left a wake of destruction in its heart-smashing past. She cursed the fates that had handed her two best friends that were intensely good-looking and absolutely unattainable. Then again, some days she wouldn't wish either of them on her worst enemy.

"Of course, I still can't believe they allow you around children."

"Oh, shut up."

~TBC~

No cliffie this time! :D


	7. Chapter 7

Harry heard nothing from Draco on Sunday morning, not that he had expected to. He'd given strict orders to the Ministry that all owls sent to Mark Birmingham were to be forwarded to him, but only a single owl arrived and that one was from Hermione reminding him about dinner. That afternoon, he put on his best Weasley jumper (with a garish H and an embroidered Snitch on the front) and travelled by Floo to the Weasley's.

Arthur met him with a bright smile and a clap on the shoulder.

"Hi Arthur. Where's Ginny?" Harry asked, as she was the one that usually greeted him.

"Apparently she had a date with some Quidditch fellows."

"Fellows, plural?"

"I have discovered it is better not to ask." Arthur tapped his temple. "In order to save what little hair I have left."

Harry nodded and Arthur led the way to the kitchen. Inside, Ron was nibbling on a slice of oat bread and watching Molly and Hermione with an expression that made Harry think of a nervous hound.

"Do you see how the edges of the roast are crisp, dear, and the meat shows no pink on this side? That is just the way Ron prefers it, isn't it, sweetie?"

Hermione's jaw was clenched so tightly around a fake smile that Harry was afraid she might crack a tooth.

"Harry!" Ron cried. "Glad you could make it!"

Molly bustled over and gave Harry a hug, fussing over him whilst Hermione glared daggers at her back and Ron sent Hermione a commiserating grin.

With Ron's help, Harry managed to stave off most of Molly's attempts to show Hermione "the proper way to win a man's heart" and keep the conversation flowing in a non-lethal direction.

Bill, Fleur, and their children arrived to provide additional distraction and soon they were all gathered around the table listening to anecdotes from the proud parents.

When the last bite of pudding had been forced down amidst protests that he couldn't eat another morsel, Harry followed Ron out to the back garden. It was not raining, but the air had a wet, cold crisp to it that felt nice after the full meal and warm house.

"Hey, you know how I'm assigned to that Quidditch dinner on Tuesday night? The one where they all play nice and then pose for photos after?"

"The boring dinner?" Harry laughed. The Department of Games and Sports had ramped up the publicity surrounding the World Cup to a fever pitch. The players barely got a moment to breathe between events.

"That's the one. I'm hoping to find someone to cover for me. I sort of promised to take Hermione out that night weeks ago. I know she'll forgive me if I have to reschedule, but…"

"Is that your subtle way of asking me to take your place?"

"Not very subtle?"

"Not really, no."

"I wondered if you might want to go because that Montoya bloke will be there. Ginny said you two got a bit cosy at the Gala."

"Montoya?" Harry's stomach clenched at the name. "He's with Malfoy."

"Seems that way, doesn't it? But I have it on authority that Malfoy and Montoya aren't really an item. It's just an act. They are together for the positive press. Malfoy wanted a public figure everyone would love and Montoya wanted the hottest bloke he could get. And there are rumours that Malfoy pays Montoya's gambling debts."

Harry goggled at him. "What authority? Who told you all of that?"

_It's just an act_. The words seemed to rattle though Harry's suddenly-hollow skull.

"I got it from Neville, who got it straight from Blaise Zabini. They're mates now that Zabini teaches-"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts. Yeah, I know." Harry dragged a hand through his hair. Neville had mentioned Zabini before, but Harry hadn't realised they were close enough to exchange gossip, especially personal gossip about Zabini's nearest and dearest. "Is he sure?"

"Yeah, and apparently Malfoy is thinking about cutting Montoya free."

Harry thought he might need to sit down. He wondered if Malfoy's decision had anything to do with Mark, and if he hadn't felt anything for Roderick, then why had he been so upset about the kiss? Harry shook off the questions for which he had no answers.

"Anyway, will you do it? Will you fill in for me at the Quidditch dinner?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course I will."

As Ron clapped him on the shoulder and uttered his thanks, Harry looked over the fence into the dark night. One way or another, it was time to talk to Montoya.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pansy waltzed into Draco's bedroom unannounced. He glared at her, but did not bother to complain; she never listened anyway.

"Why are you still in bed? It's past noon. Are those crumpets?" She sat on the edge of the bed and reached for a partially-eaten crumpet on his breakfast tray. Draco had barely nibbled at the food brought to him by a house-elf when he'd given up trying to sleep the day away and resolved to possibly get out of bed. He had no house-elves in London, but they always seemed to know when Draco hadn't eaten and popped out from the Manor to supply him with a meal.

"I was tired," he lied. In truth, he'd simply been moping.

"Really? I thought you were in a depressed funk, but I've come to cheer you up. Blaise asked me about that fellow, Mark Birmingham, so I went and did some digging. I'd thought it dreadfully strange that I'd never heard of him."

Draco barely understood her when she insisted on chewing and speaking at the same time. She had impeccable manners in public, but in private she often behaved like a creature raised by goblins.

"Well?"

"Well…" She swallowed and then raised a brightly lacquered nail to pause the thought as she drank the last of Draco's apricot juice. "I've just returned from Cambridge and it turns out that Mark Birmingham owns a substantial estate there. You should see the grounds! Even I was impressed. He wasn't there when I 'happened' by, so I stopped in to ask a neighbour about him. The elderly gentleman was quite happy to see me."

"Or he was quite happy to see your breasts," Draco suggested dryly, glancing at them pointedly. Pansy had a habit of displaying her assets nearly to the point of obscenity.

Shameless to the hilt, Pansy jiggled them with a smile. "Those, too. But, anyway, dear old Charles explained that the Birminghams were very private and always kept to themselves. They sent their children away to Beauxbatons, believing Hogwarts to be a substandard school filled with barbarians, brutish clansmen, and Mudbloods. His words, not mine."

"Beauxbatons."

Pansy nodded. "In addition, the Birminghams adored travel. Charles says they were seldom home-Mark's parents died in Istanbul in an accident, by the way, the poor dear- always jetting off to one country or another. He says Mark only recently returned from America, but he'd popped in to say hello to Charles because he was a lovely lad, always considerate and charming and would likely make someone a fine husband."

"Did you resist vomiting?"

"Not only that, but I resisted mentioning that his friend Mark would much rather fondle a hard cock than squeeze these melons." She wiggled her breasts again.

"Would you please desist?"

"Are those sausages peppered?"

"I don't know. I didn't eat any."

"You were moping to the degree of avoiding sausages? Draco, for shame. But all is well now. You may go and find Mark and climb onto his manpole, or vice versa, however you prefer. How do you prefer, by the way?"

"As if I would ever divulge that information to you, especially after hearing you refer to it as a _manpole_."

Pansy sniggered around her bite of sausage. "Your pillar of manly delight?"

"Have you been reading those rubbish romance novels again? Why don't you take my breakfast tray and run along?"

"No, I'm not hungry. Are you going to see Mark?"

Draco sighed and looked away.

For all her faults, Pansy was perceptive. She scooted closer and snatched up Draco's hand. "Darling, what is it?"

"I'm afraid I made a mess of things with Mark." He explained the dinner, the kiss, and his subsequent flight into the rain. "And I haven't heard from him since. Quite unsurprisingly, I might add."

"Oh, please. He obviously likes you and was so overcome with desire that he kissed you even when he swore he wanted nothing but your friendship… Draco, stop lying in bed whinging, forget your ridiculous Potter plot and go get the man!"

"But-"

"No buts! Into the shower now and I'll find something for you to wear." Humming happily, Pansy hopped up and bustled to Draco's wardrobe where she flung open the doors.

Knowing there was no hope once _clothing_ had been invoked, Draco crawled out of bed and headed for the shower. Somewhere between the shampoo and his third conditioner, Draco decided Pansy was right. He would forget Potter and concentrate on Mark.

He felt a twinge when he remembered the Gala, and Potter's ever-so-green eyes as he leaned close. _You know, it is possible that you deserve better_.

Draco nearly shivered when he thought of the potential there. Potter was… well, he was damnably attractive, and powerful, and rich, and socially perfect, but then there was Mark, who was also damnably attractive, possibly powerful, and rich, and socially acceptable, and… well, Draco was relaxed and comfortable with him and he simply _liked_ the man. And Draco was definitely attracted to him, and vice versa.

Yes, Pansy was absolutely right. Mark was the right choice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry nodded at one of the Korean players and suppressed a grin. He supposed Ginny had a point; they were all rather adorable, with spiky dark hair, sunny dispositions, and bright smiles. The player, one of the Beaters, Harry recalled, nodded back and then walked towards the wall where the photos were being taken. The Beater passed Roderick Montoya, who had just finished his photo shoot.

"Hi," Harry said when Montoya approached.

Montoya's eyes widened. "Mr Potter. Hello. Er… how are you?"

"Brilliant," Harry said. Montoya seemed different than he had been at the Gala. He was more reserved and looked somewhat tired. "Are you okay?"

"_Si_. Never better." Montoya gave him a smile that was obviously forced.

"Do you mind if I talk with you?"

At the question, Montoya's smile shifted from forced into pained. "Of course. Is it acceptable to remain in this room? I should not like my teammates to leave without me."

Harry glanced at the others, who had returned to their seats at the dinner table to await either their turn with the photographer or dessert, which would be served once all of the photos had been taken. They obviously were not going anywhere for a while. "All right."

Montoya stalked to a far corner of the room and stood at the window, staring out onto the brightly lit London skyline. Harry joined him, standing close enough that their elbows nearly brushed, but no closer.

"I wanted to-" Harry began.

"I apologize for my behaviour at the Quidditch Gala. It was unconscionable."

"Um…"

Montoya turned dark eyes to Harry, imploring. "I did not mean to lead you on. I was trying to make Draco jealous."

Harry's question dried up in his throat.

Montoya nodded. "I can see this surprises you, so you must know more than what is printed in the papers. Draco believes that our relationship is a simple matter of pretence. For me, it is not so. You see, I love him with the passion of a thousand sunsets."

Harry frowned, wondering how a sunset would achieve passion, but Roderick's pain seemed real, despite his words.

"Draco sees me as nothing but a game piece. A means to an end. My flirting with others annoyed him, but it was not jealousy I saw in his eyes, it was my dismissal of his carefully crafted plan that caused his distress. You must think I am a fool, to continue to play the game, to pretend for Draco that I have no love for him while showing the truth to the world."

"No, I… I can see the difficulty."

Roderick nodded. "Yes, I saw you and Draco in the garden the night of the Gala. It was enlightening."

"How so?"

"Mr Potter, there is no need for pretence. Your desire was obvious, at least to me. And I believe I cannot compete with one such as you, not when Draco desires a good name above all." Roderick turned as if to leave and then paused to lean closer. His voice turned harsh. "But know that if you cause him any pain, I shall find a way to harm you in return, no matter that you killed an infamous dark wizard."

"Fair enough."

Roderick nodded curtly and moved away, leaving Harry to stare into the night. The patterns of white and black that stretched away to the horizon brought forth an image of chess; it seemed Harry's life was a game and the board had a multitude of pieces arrayed against him.

His left breast pocket vibrated and Harry started. Bloody hell, someone had triggered the wards at the Ministry property he'd used as an address for Mark Birmingham. It could only be Draco.

And Harry didn't dare let Draco meet Mark. Not ever again.

~TBC~

*pets Roderick* :D


	8. Chapter 8

With the Mark/Roderick plan scuppered, Harry moped through the remainder of the evening, went home, and turned up for work on Wednesday feeling as though he'd come to a dead end. It was all the worse knowing that Draco had gone looking for Mark.

Ron popped in to borrow a quill and drag a recap of the dinner out of Harry, who admitted that Roderick was off-limits due to actually being in love with Draco.

"Blimey, didn't see that Bludger. Sorry, mate, it was just a thought."

"I appreciate you trying to set me up," Harry said, and meant it, even though Ron had chosen the wrong target. Ron's acceptance, not only of Harry's fluid sexuality, but also of his breakup with Ginny, had meant the world to him. He'd expected shouting and a cold shoulder, but Ron had grown up since Hogwarts.

"I'll keep my eyes open for any other hot blokes that happen along." Ron paused and added, "Or boyish chicks."

Harry threw a wadded paper at him and Ron caught it to lob it back.

"What are you doing today?" Ron asked when Harry batted the paper ball and it bounced into the rubbish bin.

"Routine interviews. Going to Dorset to make certain the Obliviators were thorough in covering up the winged toad incident." A gifted child in the region had given wings to a pond full of toads and they had ranged far and wide before enough outcry had been raised to draw Ministry attention. The Auror Department had been busy for week trying to find all of the toads and Obliviating astounded Muggles.

"Exciting. I'm off to train two rookies in proper Apparition stealth."

"It beats chasing down Dark Wizards and dodging lethal hexes."

"Does it?"

Harry shook his head and laughed. "No. No, it really doesn't."

~o~

Harry spent a couple of hours on follow-up toad duty and then got the possibly-not-brilliant idea of visiting Draco Malfoy. It seemed no worse than his last scheme, so after mulling it over he Apparated to the park near Draco's house and walked the remainder of the distance. He knocked on the now-familiar door.

It was flung open almost immediately. "Mark, where the hell have you—? Potter?"

"Hi. May I come in?"

"Er… I don't know. Is this a social call, or professional?"

"More business than pleasure, I'm afraid."

"Have I done something wrong?" Draco's demeanour changed in an instant.

"No, not you. I am looking for information on someone you might know."

"Someone I might know?"

"His name is Mark Birmingham."

Draco stepped aside and let him in; his face had shown no change in expression, but something in his eyes had flickered. Harry admired the living room again and pretended he hadn't seen it before. "Nice place."

"Thank you. Now what's this about Mark?"

"You know him, then?"

"Not well, but yes, we're acquainted."

"I hate to ask how well acquainted, so I won't, but you should know that we are looking for Birmingham in connection with some illegal activity."

Draco blanched. "What sort of illegal activity?"

"Some of the companies he owns seem to be fronts for smuggling operations."

"Smuggling." Draco turned away and Harry heard him swear softly. "I knew he was too good to be true."

"Were you… romantically involved?"

"I thought you weren't going to ask. But no, we were not."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, feeling the words to the depths of his soul.

"Are you?" Draco laughed harshly. "And just when I'd made up my mind to toss Roderick aside and try for a real relationship. Fuck my luck, honestly."

The knife in Harry's heart twisted. Merlin, he had seriously fucked everything up. "You know Montoya is in love with you, don't you? He isn't pretending."

"How do you know that?"

"He told me last night at the Quidditch dinner. Apparently his flirtation was a ploy to make you jealous."

"Did that upset you? Used to being the centre of attention, and all."

"No. I have no interest in Roderick."

Draco shook his head. "Never mind Roderick. He is my problem. What do you want to know about Mark Birmingham?"

"Do you know where he lives or anything about him?"

"I know where he lives, but I haven't been inside. You'll have to ask Blaise if you want more details. He was digging into Mark for me, but apparently not deeply enough." The regret in his voice had Harry stepping forward in a surge of guilt, ready to confess all, but prudence stayed his steps and urged caution; he had no idea how Draco would react to his duplicity.

"People are not always who you think they are," Harry offered. "I should go." He turned to let himself out, but Draco's voice stopped him. "I'll leave my Floo open for you, in case you have additional information. Or questions."

"Care for a drink, Potter? I could use one."

"Well, I'm on duty, so no alcohol. But I will have a cup of tea if you have some available."

"Tea?" Draco's eyes lit up.

Harry nodded and suppressed a smile. He hadn't meant the request as a mood changer; he really fancied a cup of tea, especially some of Draco's special blend.

"Are you a tea purist, Potter? Tetley black and nothing else?"

"No. Feel free to surprise me."

"I'll be right back."

Harry examined Draco's books while he waited. He had laughed at them before, as Mark, because Draco preferred dry historical textbooks and novels to anything more current or, frankly, interesting.

"Try this, Potter." Draco deposited a teacup and saucer into his hand.

Harry inhaled the steam and picked up a hint of ginger. He took a drink and only then remembered that he wasn't Mark Birmingham, but Harry Potter, _Auror_, and Aurors never drank anything offered to them whilst on duty.

The tea was brilliant, however. "Ginger, orange, and cinnamon? What's the tea?"

"Pu-erh."

"Mmm, exotic and rare. Delicious."

Draco's eyes were wide and shocked. "Potter. You—_you_ know tea?"

"Well, I don't _know_ tea, but I like it. And I'm still learning what I like and what I don't. This one I like." Harry took another drink and felt the warm liquid soothe its way into his system.

"Have you tried—" And Draco was off, talking tea and drawing Harry into the kitchen, tugging out mugs and canisters.

While their second cups brewed, the conversation stalled. After a short silence, Draco said, "I thought Roderick might be getting attached, but I will never like him that way. We are too different. Or perhaps, too alike. He was nothing but a convenience."

Harry was stood quite close to Draco and the urge to move even closer was almost overpowering. "I could be a convenience," he murmured.

Grey eyes shifted, warm, and a smile curved Draco's lips. "Could you really?"

Harry smiled back. His heart thudded, aching, as the words eased out. "Probably not. But possibly something more than a convenience."

Draco made a noncommittal sound, as Harry's confession was no more interesting than talk about the weather. He pushed a teacup into Harry's hands. "Try that one."

Harry drank. "Mmm. Earl Grey."

"Sometimes the old standards are nice. Why me, Potter?"

Harry gazed at him over the rim of the cup. Steam spiralled up and fogged his glasses. There were so many answers to that question. At first it had been simple attraction, but now it was the way Draco smiled, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about tea, the way he sat on the sofa with his bare feet curled under himself, the way his eyes narrowed and his teeth nibbled his lower lip when playing chess, it was his laugh, and his blond hair forever catching on his lashes…

"I like you."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You like the way my arse looks in these trousers. You don't even know me."

"That, too," Harry admitted and studiously avoided looking at the arse in question. "But I do know you."

A Patronus burst into the kitchen, surprising them both enough that cups rattled against saucers and Harry nearly went for his wand. It wasn't from the Auror Department, however, it was Neville's.

"Harry, if you're not busy, can you please come to Hogwarts? There's been an, um… incident. Nothing to worry about, but as a personal favour, you might want to come." The Patronus vanished.

"Well, that wasn't cryptic at all."

"I should probably find out what that's all about. May I use your Floo?"

"Of course."

Draco guided him to the fireplace and held out a bowl of Floo Powder. Harry hesitated with his hand over the rim.

"This is probably super-presumptuous, but _carpe diem_ and all that." Harry reached up and curved his hand around the back of Draco's neck and pulled him into a kiss. It was soft and gentle and barely a press of lips to lips, but when Harry leaned away and took up the Floo powder, Draco's eyes were huge and enigmatic. "Hex me later?" He tossed the powder, yelled, "Hogwarts!" and stepped into the flames.

He stumbled into McGonagall's office. She was not in attendance, but Dumbledore smiled at him from his portrait.

"Hi, Professor. Any idea where I can find Neville?"

"I believe he is at the Quidditch pitch with the others, Harry."

"Thanks, Professor." Harry trotted down the spiral steps and made his way outside before sending his Patronus to find Neville. An answering Patronus guided him to a grassy bowl near the Quidditch pitch; a low roar from the stands indicated that a match of some sort was in progress.

To Harry's surprise, Neville stood next to Blaise Zabini. Roderick Montoya was sat on the ground before them, arms clasping his knees whilst he rocked back and forth. Tears wet his cheeks and a steady stream of Portuguese flowed from his lips.

"What's happened?" Harry asked.

Neville hurried over. "The Kestrels have an exhibition match with the Hogwarts Quidditch teams today—another publicity thing—and Roderick showed up drunk. He started raving about how his life was over since Malfoy didn't love him. Blaise and I hustled him out here before he drew much attention. He doesn't need to be kicked off the team this close to the World Cup."

"Quite right. I'm sure the Department of Games and Sports will appreciate that." Harry looked at Zabini. "Should we take him to Draco?"

Zabini shook his head violently. "In this condition? Draco would kill him."

"Draco!" Montoya sobbed. "My only love!"

"I thought you might want to take Roderick home," Neville said to Harry in an odd tone.

"Me? I don't know where he lives!"

"I meant to _your_ house, obviously. You could, you know, take care of him."

Harry frowned, feeling he had missed half the conversation somewhere along the way. "Neville, I'm on duty. I can hardly be shepherding drunken Quidditch players about and taking them home to—oh for Godric's sake, tell me you are not trying to set me up with… with _him!_" Harry flung out a hand to indicate Montoya.

"Don't look at me like that! It was just a thought. He's handsome and likeable, and Draco gave him the boot—"

Montoya's head snapped up and he glared at Neville. "He did no such thing! A Montoya does not 'get the boot!' We are the boot givers! I broke up with Draco, not the other way around."

"You did?" Harry and Zabini spoke as one. "When?" Harry added, wondering why Draco hadn't mentioned it mere minutes earlier.

"I sent him an owl. I am not a pathetic hanger-on and I shall no longer be used by Draco Malfoy! I have my pride!"

"Indeed. That's obvious with you sitting on the cold ground, drunk and sobbing like an infant." Zabini's voice was dry and amused.

"What do you know of love and broken hearts, you spiteful, jealous, horrible beast of a donkey!"

"_Donkey?_"

"Listen to him bray," Montoya said to Harry and waved a hand airily at Blaise.

"Why, you pompous, puffskein-brained, self-absorbed, oily, fake-accented—!" Blaise advanced on Roderick, wand drawn, and Roderick scrambled to his feet, fists clenching as he hitched his shoulders forwards as though preparing for war. Neville moved closer to Harry, eyes shifting from one to the other nervously.

"_Oily?_ What do you mean by oily? And my accent is genuine!"

"Please, your skin glistens so much I could fry an egg on it. How much lotion does one man need? And your accent disappears almost completely when you aren't paying attention. I know you're half-Portuguese, but you're also half-English and you were raised in Sussex, you tit!"

Montoya gasped in obvious outrage. "You have spied upon me!"

"Of course I have spied upon you! Merlin, what a nitwit you are!"

Montoya's hand flashed out and snatched up a handful of Zabini's shirt. Harry gripped his wand and wondered if Zabini would start with a mild hex or go straight for something just below a Cruciatus. "I hate you!" Montoya growled, inches from Zabini's face.

"Sure you do," Zabini said and laughed.

Montoya kissed him.

Harry lifted his wand, prepared to Stun them both, but Zabini didn't move for long moments, and then he raised his arms and slung them around Montoya's neck to draw him closer, kissing him back with a sound that was anything but protesting.

"Um…" said Neville.

"We… might want to go…" Harry suggested when his astonishment lessened.

"Good idea. Um, thanks for coming. Blaise seems to have everything under control now."

"Apparently so. Let me know if anything changes. For the worse, I mean. If they decide to start hexing or…" Harry trailed off, as Zabini and Roderick showed no signs of ceasing any time soon. If anything, Neville might have to hose them down soon to spare any wandering children's eyes.

"Sorry, Harry."

"It's fine. Bye, Neville." Harry turned and jogged back to the castle. Halfway there, he began to laugh out loud.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco took the lift to Level Two and nodded to the attendant, who barely glanced at Draco's badge; he'd already turned in his wand at the Atrium desk and had no plans to hex any of the resident Aurors.

The door to Potter's office was open and Draco walked in to find it empty. He sighed dramatically. It figured that none of the fuckwits he'd encountered had bothered to tell him that Potter wasn't in. Then again, perhaps he was only in the break room fetching a cuppa.

The thought of Potter and tea warmed him and he found himself smiling a bit goofily. Potter liked _tea_ and had kissed him after dropping his little suggestion of being "something more" – it almost erased the sting of Mark's betrayal.

Draco had gone immediately to Mark's house for some answers, but no one had responded. The neighbour had stared at him suspiciously from an upstairs window of the house next door, but the man hadn't bothered to come out to speak to Draco, who had gone home in a snit and sent another owl requesting Mark's presence as soon as possible. He wanted to know if Potter's allegations were true.

Since Mark was unavailable (or _hiding_, Draco thought uncharitably), the least he could do would be to pry some details from Potter. Perhaps the Ministry was being overzealous, and Mark was not the primary player in whatever crimes were being committed.

Draco's quest had nothing to do with wanting to see Potter again. Nothing at all.

The Auror break room was near the lift and down the hall to the right, according to the hard-eyed Auror of whom he'd asked directions. To Draco's dismay, Ron Weasley was stood there, peering into steam curling from a large mug. Draco considered backing out before he was noticed, but that plan was kyboshed when Weasley raised his eyes and spotted Draco.

"Malfoy?"

"Hello, er… Weasley." Draco walked towards him nonchalantly, as though he'd meant to come in for a cup of tea. Of course, the thought of actually consuming Ministry tea made his lips purse into a horrified line. They likely purchased the leaves swept up from the floor of the meanest tea factory, stuffed into tiny bags with strings and paper tags attached.

"What are you doing here?"

"Looking for Potter."

"Harry? It's his day off. You need something?"

Buggering fuck. Draco had come all the way to the Ministry assuming Potter would be at work, since it was a bloody weekday. He supposed all Aurors had random schedules, being on duty at odd times and all, although it hadn't really occurred to him before. "No. It's a personal… thing."

"Oh really?" Weasley looked at him through narrowed eyes and then tapped the rim of his mug with his wand, as if to hurry the brewing.

Draco was near enough to smell it and the scent was surprisingly nice. "What are you drinking? Shouldn't it have a little string for you to tug when it is ready?"

"Naw, I brought this from home. Hey, watch this." Weasley lifted his wand. "_Exoriabeo!_"

As the tea leaves lifted from the water, swirled in the air, and vanished, Draco felt a rushing surge in his veins, culminating in his ears like a tidal wave. He was glad Weasley wasn't speaking; he doubted he would be able to hear him. Draco could barely see him through the white-hot haze of rage before his eyes. Weasley gave him a smug look, as though he'd been the one to invent the spell.

"Where did you learn that?" Draco rasped, hearing his own voice as a hoarse rasp.

"Hermione. Cool, innit?" Weasley lifted the cup and slurped at the hot tea.

"And where…" Draco fought for control. "Where did she learn it?"

"Harry. Never took him for a tea drinker, but he's got us all buying these fancy leaves lately and…"

Weasley kept talking but Draco could no longer hear him. All of the pieces were fitting into place, rearranging themselves into patterns he hadn't been able to discern. He hadn't shown the spell to anyone but Mark. He'd used it in front of Potter the previous day, but Potter hadn't mentioned it, hadn't even _asked_ about it…

Because he'd already known.

The similarities. The _nuances_. Fuck.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy, you okay? You look…"

Draco didn't bother to discover how he looked. He whirled and stalked to the elevator.

_Fucking Potter._

~o~

Draco Flooed straight into Potter's house. He barely took in the décor before stomping out of the room and into a small kitchen, also empty. Bloody hell, if Potter wasn't home, Draco would be tempted to burn the damned place down.

"_Potter!_" he bellowed. "Where the hell are you? Come out, you miserable arsehole wanker!"

He stormed down the hall and nearly stumbled into Potter, who'd emerged through a doorway. "Malfoy?"

Draco's anger lost some of its grip as Draco lurched to a halt. He knew his jaw was opening, but he seemed powerless to stop it. Bloody hell, Potter was… Well, Potter was wet. Dripping, actually. And mostly nude. With soap in his hair. A red and gold patterned towel was held together in one fist, maintaining Potter's modesty while hinting at—well, more than hinting at, really, because the man was bloody well hung; if Draco's suspicions were correct, and wasn't that a telling swell of fabric just there—

Draco dragged his eyes upwards with effort, which was not at all helpful. Potter's hair was dripping with suds and a white glob fell from a spot near his ear, plopped onto his chest next to his left nipple, and began to slide downwards, dragging Draco's attention to Potter's dark, tantalising happy trail and from there to—

_Fuck!_

"Malfoy?" Potter asked again and Draco yanked his eyes to Potter's and hoped to Salazar he hadn't been speaking during Draco's romp down the holy-fuck-he's-gorgeous path.

Potter wasn't wearing glasses, which made his eyes look different than usual, but the shape was immediately familiar and to Draco's relief his anger returned in a rush, heightened by the uncertain smile on Potter's lips.

"Who, exactly, is Mark Birmingham, Potter? And why does he act so very much like you?"

Potter took a step closer, and then another. Startled, Draco backed away.

"Um…" Potter took another step.

"It's the bloody Ministry, isn't it?" Draco growled. "Are you investigating me? Using Polyjuice or some fucking spell to get close to me? Is that it?"

Draco shifted backwards again when Potter moved even closer, and felt a surge of alarm when his shoulders hit the wall. Potter was ostensibly unarmed, but Draco felt oddly defenceless.

"No! In truth, Draco, I'm the one using Ministry resources for personal gain. You are definitely not a suspect and I could get in serious trouble." Potter put out a hand and pressed it against the wall next just above Draco's shoulder. He leaned closer and Draco watched as a bead of sudsy water followed the curve of his cheek and then paused at the edge of his stubble-covered jaw. "Serious. Trouble."

"Per…personal gain?" Draco was having trouble making words. Potter was so near and so naked. And intense. Bloody hell, why was he always so intense? Draco's heartbeat had flipped into Quidditch match levels and seemed to be rising.

Potter took another step. He was not quite touching Draco, but he was so close the coolness of his wet skin was tangible. Green eyes slid away from Draco's and then warm, warm breath huffed against Draco's ear. "Yes. I've done terrible, awful things in order to pursue a love interest. I could be fired for it."

The word fired snagged Draco's attention, but the other one drowned it in a cacophony of clanging bells. "L…love interest?"

Draco shut his eyes as Potter's lips brushed the sensitive skin before his ear, causing the tiny hairs there to rise up, eager for more. "Merlin, Draco, it was stupid, I know, but I was there in the pub and you were so, _so_ fucking seductive and I couldn't resist dancing with you and I wanted you so bloody badly I would have done anything to… Well, I've done stupid, _stupid_ things just to get to know you and you turned out to be even more amazing than I'd thought with your bloody tea and your laugh and your chess-playing and historical book collection and crystal vases and brilliant, gorgeous _everything_."

Draco could hardly breathe. Potter was so close and his scent was so familiar—how had Draco not noticed that, _idiot_, he smelled like Mark, fucking hell, he _was_ Mark and—

Potter stepped back. Draco gasped, feeling that Potter had taken the very air along with him. Draco nearly reached out and pulled him back in, but there was nothing to grab but the towel and if he took hold of that he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.

Potter's stare was fixed on the floor. "I'm so sorry, Draco. I never meant to take it as far as I did. Once begun, I couldn't seem to stop. You liked Mark the way you'd never like me and I wanted to tell you the truth, but then I couldn't bear to hurt you, and I just got deeper and deeper and—Merlin, I deserve to be fired. I deserved to be hexed and whatever else you plan to do to me, but… Please, just know that everything Mark felt, everything _I_ feel… is genuine."

Potter stopped moving away when he reached the opposite wall and he looked at Draco through eyes swimming with remorse.

Draco tried to gather his scattered wits. He tsked. "Fired? Is that all? No time in Azkaban? What has the Ministry come to?"

"Is that…?" Potter licked his lips. "Is that what you want?"

Draco shook his head. "Azkaban? Honestly. It's a pity, but I'm afraid I won't even be able to have you fired." Draco took a step towards Potter, relishing the sensation of regaining the upper hand, and feeling almost grateful to Potter for relinquishing it.

"You won't?"

Draco kept moving, until he was the one looming over Potter and hovering a hairsbreadth away. "Certainly not. No boyfriend of mine will be the laughingstock of the wizarding world as long as I have something to do with it."

With that, Draco kissed him.

~TBC~

Aaaaand we're back to cliffies, but I didn't think you'd mind this one as much... :D


	9. Chapter 9

Harry could hardly believe his luck. Part of him thought he might have slipped in the shower, hit his head, and currently suffered from a massive hallucination. The possibility was negated, however, by the feel of Draco pressed up against him, warm and solid and, apparently, quite willing.

The kiss in the taxicab had been lovely, but dulled by Harry's alcohol consumption at the time. Now, however, he was fully cognizant and far better able to appreciate the nuances of the situation. Mirroring Harry's movements from moments prior, Draco had quite firmly backed Harry into the wall, holding him in place with the firm pressure of torso to torso.

Harry tilted his head for better access; Draco's tongue found its way inside his mouth and Harry welcoming him eagerly. One hand lifted to glide into Draco's soft hair—the other kept a firm grip on the towel around his hips. Everything was going so well at the moment, he didn't want to scare Draco away by accident.

That plan was nearly forgotten as Harry grew more and more lost in the play of Draco's mouth on his, and Draco moved even closer to step between Harry's legs, nudging his feet apart, and placing their groins together in a motion that drew a hoarse exclamation from Harry. Bloody hell, Draco would be the death of him and he hoped it wasn't some sadistic revenge-torture Draco had in mind.

Draco made a lovely noise in response, bit gently into Harry's lower lip once more, and then stepped back, almost seeming to confirm Harry's wild suspicion, but it was negated by the look in Draco's eyes.

"I can't—"he said. "I can't do more until I've talked to Roderick. We haven't properly broken up and it wouldn't be right for me to take up with you like this. He isn't a bad sort and he deserves better."

Harry mourned the loss of Draco's warm body, partly because his wet skin was beginning to chill. "Actually, Roderick broke up with you this morning," Harry offered. "He sent an owl."

Draco blinked at him across the space of the hallway. He'd only taken two steps back; Harry itched to reach out and pull him back in for more kissing. "Is that what that was? The idiot wrote it in Portuguese. I was too busy looking for you to take the time to have it translated. I figured it could wait."

"He might have been a bit drunk when he wrote it."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "How do you know all that?"

"Neville called me from Hogwarts when Montoya showed up for an exhibition match and was too under the weather to perform. Neville suspected the Ministry wouldn't want the press getting wind of it so close to the World Cup, so he called me to intervene."

"And did you?"

"Not really. Zabini took care of it."

"Blaise?"

Harry nodded, although he didn't get into exactly how Zabini had fixed the problem. He decided that news was probably best delivered by one or the other of the participants. He also wasn't certain if it would be a lasting thing or simply a snogging session spurred by drunkenness and a heat-of-the-moment argument. Neville had sent a message stating that Zabini had escorted Montoya into the castle, but he hadn't heard from them since.

"What was that boyfriend thing you mentioned earlier?" Harry asked, hoping to bring the subject back to a more kissing-friendly topic. He took a step forward. "You aren't simply replacing one 'socially acceptable' person with another, are you?"

"Well, you did offer to be 'something more' at one time. Or was that you talking out of your arse?"

"I meant every word," Harry said, taking another step and turning into the aggressor once more. It had served him well last time as a means of deflating Draco's well-deserved anger. "I am sorry for lying to you, by the way, but I'm not sorry for getting to know you as Mark, without our past history to cloud your judgment. It was a rare opportunity to discover how lovely you are beneath all of the… thorns."

Draco huffed. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mmm," Harry murmured. "I imagine not." He drew his fingertips lightly down the front of Draco's robes, from collarbone to waist, watching his eyes the entire time. Draco's breath hitched and he leaned into Harry's touch. Harry had been partially hard after the kissing session, and grew slightly more than half-hard after witnessing Draco's response. It was obvious Draco wanted him, hopefully as much as Harry wanted him.

"Do you mind if we continue this discussion elsewhere? Either in the bedroom with fewer clothes or downstairs after I put something on? I'm getting cold."

Draco looked conflicted for a moment. "I really shouldn't fall into bed with you. We haven't even been on a proper date."

"Of course we have. The Muggle restaurant was perfectly proper."

"I was out with _Mark_, not you."

"But Mark is me."

"I didn't know that, so it doesn't count." Draco had his pouty-face on and, adorable though it was, Harry knew he'd lost this round.

"All right. Let me go and get dressed. I'll meet you downstairs and you can let me know where you want to go on our first 'proper' date." Harry gave him a wink to let him know he wasn't angry and then turned and went back into the bedroom. He only wished his cock would be so understanding.

He stopped before his wardrobe and debated what to wear. His typical day-off tatty t-shirt wouldn't do. He supposed he should start dressing more like Mark, who had always taken care with his wardrobe; his persona had even necessitated the purchase of some new clothing. As Harry pondered, he absently pulled the towel from around his hips and used it to dry off his still-soapy hair. He'd been in the process of rinsing when Draco's bellow had startled him out of the shower.

"Fuck propriety," Draco said behind him, stalking into the room to pull Harry into a bruising kiss.

The towel fell as Harry's hands grasped for something solid and found Draco's shoulders. He was too shocked to enjoy the kiss for one startled moment, and then he returned it with full-fledged enthusiasm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco had debated with himself for the space of a few heartbeats before turning and following Potter into the bedroom. He knew what he wanted—what they both wanted—and denying them seemed ridiculous. Granted, he'd been annoyed at Potter's deception, but his earnest insistence that everything he'd felt as Mark had been real… well, that was quite an ego-boost, really. The prat had continually sought Draco out simply because he'd wanted to be with him. He'd even taught himself to drink decent tea and then shared that knowledge with the rest of the trio.

And he was willing to be 'something more' with Draco.

The fact that he was a marvellous kisser and was currently naked had nothing at all to do with Draco's decision. He pointedly ignored the Pansy in his head yelling, "Liar!" at the latter thought and then put her out of his thoughts for good, in order to better concentrate on Potter.

Potter made a nice sound when Draco's hands roamed from his shoulders down his back to grip his arse. A lovely, lovely arse it was, firm and smooth and just the right size for Draco's hands. Draco wanted to bite it.

"You should get on the bed so that I may properly punish you for lying to me," Draco said as he pulled his mouth from Potter's and then placed languid kisses along the side of his neck, following it down to the muscle above his collarbone. Draco bit him, just hard enough to draw a gasp, although the way Potter arched into him and his hardening cock jerked against Draco's, Draco thought it likely he didn't mind the gesture.

"Ow. I didn't know you were a biter."

"Too late to turn back now, Potter. Bed."

Potter nodded shakily, squeezed Draco's arms once more, and then turned and took several quick steps to the nearby bed. The duvet was disturbingly red—not quite Gryffindor red, but close enough to annoy Draco's sensibilities, although he had to admit that once Potter sprawled on it and looked at Draco with a sultry stare, he was a fetching picture.

Draco quickly divested himself of his outer robes, shirt, shoes, and socks, leaving only his dark trousers on as he crawled between Potter's legs.

"Um. Shouldn't you take those off?" Potter asked.

"All in good time. Now, put your hands up on the headboard and grip the bars—I approve of your bed, by the way, nice use of iron and very convenient handholds. I didn't expect you to be so kinky."

"It was here when I moved in."

Draco smirked. _Now_ Potter decided to be honest. Draco didn't mention it, however, as Potter obediently took hold of the bars.

"Does that mean you haven't broken this bed in properly?"

"I guess not. I was waiting for the right person, I suppose."

"Cheers, Potter. Your wait is over." Draco smiled, showing plenty of teeth in a predatory manner.

"Do you think you might start calling me Harry?"

"All in good time, Potter. Now hold tight." Draco smirked as any reply was cut off by a gasp when Draco closed his mouth over Potter's nipple and sucked hard. He glanced up to see the tendons in Potter's arms tighten as he gripped the bars tighter.

Draco allowed his hands to move, sliding over as much of Potter as he could reach, gripping, squeezing, and dragging his short nails over sensitive places, and following many of them with his mouth, until Potter was a writhing mess.

Of course, Draco neglected one particular area on purpose, and he sat back to look at it thoughtfully; precome had spilled from the tip in a slick pool. Potter whimpered and lifted his hips. "Please…"

Draco pursed his lips. "I don't know, Potter. I'm not sure you've learned your 'do not lie to Draco' lesson quite yet."

"Yes, I have! I completely, totally have!"

"How do I know you aren't just saying that to get me to touch your cock? Don't even think about letting go of those bars."

Potter's hands, which had loosened, retained their sold grip as Potter shook his head. "I'm not! I really mean it! I'm sorry!"

Draco stared into Potter's earnest face for a moment longer and then dipped his head, lowering his mouth as though to kiss Potter's cock, but then he swerved and bit into the soft flesh of Potter's thigh instead. Potter's balls brushed Draco's chin as he arched off the bed with a yelp.

"You bastard!"

Despite his shout, he did not release the headboard, so Draco took pity on him and licked a stripe up Potter's cock, earning a tortured-sounding intake of breath.

"I apologize! You're not a bastard; you're a bloody tease, but _fucking hell-!" _The last sounded a bit strangled, understandable, as Draco had taken Potter's cock completely into his mouth. Draco shut his eyes at the sensation. It had been a long time since he'd had sex; and much longer since he'd given fellatio. He supposed he had trust issues and it held him back from intimacy most of the time.

Despite his annoyance with Potter/Mark, he did trust him. Potter had been surprisingly good at deception, but the guilt would no doubt have forced him into an admission sooner than later. Draco hollowed his cheeks and then paused before withdrawing and giving Potter another fixed stare. "When were you planning to confess, by the way?"

"Oh god, I don't want to have this conversation if it's going to end with you storming off in a huff and leaving me like this."

"That long, then?" Draco narrowed his eyes dangerously and Potter half sat up, shifting his grip on the bars without completely letting them go. His eyes bored into Draco's and he wrinkled his nose, trying to keep his glasses from falling off.

"No! I had already decided that you couldn't see Mark again. I was kind of hoping I could take Mark's place, but as myself."

"So, Mark would have just disappeared and you wouldn't have bothered to mention the deception. Ever."

Potter's head fell back onto the pillow and he groaned. "Draco, I'm a terrible person. You're right, and you have every reason to torture me. It started so easily and I couldn't seem to stop. I just kept getting deeper."

Draco grinned and relented, willing to let go of his self-righteous indignation in order to reap the immediate rewards. "Well, I'm curious to see just how _deep_ you can go." With that, Draco stood and shucked his trousers and pants before straddling Potter, whose astonished face was something to behold.

"Do you want me, Potter?"

"More than anything."

"Then let go of the bloody bars and show me."

Potter growled, released the bars, and reached up to drag Draco into a kiss, curling his hand into the hair at Draco's nape. He seemed to enjoy touching Draco's hair and he acknowledged that he had no problem with that whatsoever.

Before Potter could get too aggressive after Draco's challenge, Draco pushed him back onto the bed, breaking the kiss. "Lube?"

"_Accio_ Lube!" A jar smacked into Potter's hand from somewhere and Draco tried not to be impressed with his wandless magic as Potter offered it to him.

"Thank you," Draco said and pulled the cork before drenching his fingers and smearing Potter's cock. He hadn't bothered to ask whether Potter preferred to be the cauldron or the wand, but since this was Draco's party he assumed the choice would be up to him. When Draco slowly sank down onto Potter's hard, slick shaft, he heard nothing but a delicious moan. No complaints from Potter, then.

Potter's hands kneaded Draco's thighs. "Draco." His voice was a whisper.

"Okay, Potter?"

"Better… better than okay. Can I move?"

"I would recommend it." Draco was surprised at his own ability to speak coherently. Potter felt amazing, and Draco had been more than ready for sex ever since his chance encounter with "Mark" at the pub. The fact that Mark was actually Potter was all the more titillating, once Draco managed to recall how much Mark had wanted him from the first moment.

"Brilliant," Potter said and thrust his hips upwards whilst holding Draco's thighs tightly enough to leave bruises.

Draco shut his eyes at the sensation. Salazar, it had been a long time, and Potter felt amazing. Draco could not stop touching him and every grip and squeeze he made to Potter's forearms, biceps, ribs, shoulders, and neck caused him to emit small sound of pleasure and thrust more vigorously into Draco, until they were both drenched with sweat and moving in rapid, seamless rhythm.

At one point their hands caught and held; they stopped moving simultaneously and leaned into a gentle, shared kiss, broken with panted breaths that only made them pause before resuming. Something about it had Draco's heart aching. Never before had he experienced such strange tenderness during sex. Whatever doubts he had regarding Potter's feelings vanished. Be he Mark or _Harry_, he definitely had feelings for Draco, enough to push sex into the realm of lovemaking.

"Harry," Draco said, testing it out.

Potter's eyes, wide and green even without the magnification of his glasses—fallen to the floor some time previous—bored into Draco's and then he made a single, sharp cry and arched beneath Draco.

Potter drew Draco's hand to his own cock and they both stroked, pulling Draco closer to the edge.

"Say it again."

"Harry," Draco said and came all over his abdomen.

Draco almost immediately collapsed on him and let Potter's—or Harry's, he supposed—hands roam all over him until the drying sweat and semen became too much for Draco's sensibilities.

"Bath? I'll wash your hair."

Draco smiled at him. "I think I can get used to this 'boyfriend' thing if you keep coming up with good ideas such as that."

Harry's return smile was brilliant. "Then I'll just have to keep trying. Afterwards, we'll make tea."

"And then fuck in the kitchen?"

Harry pulled him into a molten kiss. "You are the best boyfriend anyone could ever want."

Draco preened. "I know."

**EPILOGUE**

"_What the actual fuck is going on?_"

The shrill voice jolted Harry from a deep sleep and he opened his eyes to muted darkness. He breathed in a familiar, pleasant scent, interlaced with other, unfamiliar fragrances, and felt the slide of skin against skin as a warm body next to his shifted. It took him a bewildered moment to remember where he was.

"Pansy. Really? Is this necessary? Especially at this hour?"

The warm tones brought everything back with a rush and Harry made a heartfelt sigh of contentment and moved his arm, which had been thrown over Draco's abdomen, to draw him closer. Harry splayed his hand and considered pushing off the dark bed sheet, but he was too languid and comfortable, despite the interruption.

"It was bad enough when he was with _you_, but now that man has taken up with Blaise! Was that _your_ doing? It's absolutely sickening, the way they are hanging all over one another. Blaise was feeding him _berries_ as though he were a bloody lapdog. Are you even listening to me?"

"Given that you are loud enough that half the population of London has heard you, I am going to say yes, Pansy. But whom has Blaise taken up with?"

"Montoya! Your bloody fake boytoy!" The bed depressed unexpectedly and Harry snuggled closer to Draco, whose hand tightened on Harry's shoulder.

"Blaise? _And Roderick?_"

Harry grinned and pressed a kiss against Draco's side. He was glad hadn't been the one to impart that information, and it was nice to know that Roderick had moved on from his crush on Draco, if that had even been real

"Yes, Roderick—Wait a minute. Do you have someone in here…?"

The sheet tore away and while the fresh air was welcome, the brightness was not, nor was the sight of Pansy Parkinson's shocked face. On the plus side, she seemed to have been rendered speechless and she turned her stare to Draco, jaw agape.

"You are lucky we were asleep and not otherwise occupied," Draco said and smirked.

An awkward tension grew and held while Harry considered something to say.

"Parkinson," he managed when the silence became unbearable.

"Hullo, Potter. Draco, would you mind meeting me in the kitchen for a tiny moment for a little chat?" Parkinson spoke through her teeth and her glare seemed threatening enough to parboil Draco on the spot should he choose to refuse. Harry was slightly alarmed when Draco pursed his lips as though considering that very thing, but Parkinson didn't wait. She shot to her feet and stalked through the doorway, shoes thumping on the floor.

Draco ruffled Harry's hair and sighed heavily. "She'll never leave if I don't allow her to harangue me. I'll get rid of her and then we can go back to sleep."

"Or practise that _thing_ again?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Are you always this insatiable? Never mind, I am not complaining. I'll hurry back. Don't start without me."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Harry said in a way that Draco apparently found arousing, because whenever he pitched his voice into that particular tone, Draco's breath caught and his eyes grew wide and dark.

"Bloody bint. I'm blocking my Floo," Draco muttered as he shoved aside the bedclothes and left the bed to drag on a nearby dressing gown. Harry admired his lean thighs and pert arse as he went.

When Draco disappeared after Parkinson, Harry rolled onto his back and propped his hands behind his head with a blissful sigh. It had been an eventful night. They had made love several times in Harry's house before taking the Floo to Draco's to acquire better tea and to water Draco's plants (a necessity, Harry had been informed). Once there, they had tested the strength of Draco's sofa (very sturdy), and then moved to his bedroom where they had collapsed and fallen soundly asleep.

Harry blushed a little, remembering. His sex life had been nearly non-existent and then in one single night he'd made up for what seemed years of abstinence, with hopefully more on the horizon.

He frowned. Provided Pansy didn't convince Draco to kick him out, or something. Harry sat up, suddenly worried. She had been eager enough to set Draco up with Mark, and she wouldn't be pleased at all to have her plans ruined by someone she disliked more than she disliked Roderick.

Harry got to his feet and looked for his trousers. As he did so, a bit of metal bumped against his chest and he brushed it with his fingers, smiling. He'd almost forgotten. During their third (or fourth?) session, Harry had tugged on the chain around Draco's neck and asked why he wore the black symbol rather than the white one.

"Isn't it obvious?" Draco had rolled his eyes.

Harry had unclasped it and tsked at Draco. "If you're suggesting that you are wicked and evil, or dark and mysterious, I beg to differ. The most devious thing you get up to these days is mixing ginseng and red tea. I convinced seven Ministry employees that I was working a special case and needed to create an undercover persona, falsified documents, appropriated a safe house, and lied convincingly for the period of several weeks. I believe this is now mine." With that, Harry had fastened the black yin symbol around his own neck.

Draco had stared down at him for so long that Harry thought he might have badly screwed up, but then Draco's features had softened and he'd smiled. "It looks good," he'd murmured and kissed him.

Harry shook off the memory and snatched up his trousers before pulling them on. His t-shirt followed and then he walked down the hallway towards the kitchen.

"…thought we had convinced you that this path leads to madness! Did you hear nothing that Blaise said to you, although, granted, his motives are now suspect, but never mind that! Draco, what about Mark?"

Harry stepped into the kitchen just as Parkinson wailed the latter. "I'm Mark." He pushed a hand through his hair and winked at Draco, who seemed to be ignoring her in favour of making tea.

She glared at him. "Potter—" she began.

"No, really," Harry said. "I am Mark Birmingham. Always have been." He walked closer to Draco and took the cup of tea out of his hands, earning an arched eyebrow, but Harry grinned at him and Draco shook his head before preparing another cup. "You came into a pub one night with Draco, Blaise, and some girl I can't recall. Draco was really drunk and he spilt whiskey onto my Puddlemere United shirt before offering to suck it off."

Draco stopped stirring sugar into his tea and shared a look with Harry; a blush tinted his cheeks and Harry smiled, remembering that night with a surge of happiness. If he hadn't been there, disguised as Mark, none of what had followed would have happened. He would have been home alone right now, wondering if there were anyone special out there for him.

"We danced and then you escorted Draco home, but not before slipping me his address. Thank you for that, by the way. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to repay you."

"I'll repay her by not hexing her arse for meddling in my affairs," Draco growled.

"_You._ Are Mark Birmingham?"

Harry nodded happily and sipped his tea.

Parkinson threw up her hands. "Blaise has taken up with that Spanish-Portuguese whatever he is, and you've taken up with Potter. I am going to Denmark until whatever madness has infected you is no longer catching. Possibly forever."

She turned and huffed out of the kitchen. Harry called after her, "You know, Neville Longbottom is single!"

A shriek that conveyed many levels of disgust rang down the hall, and then a whoosh sounded and she was gone. Draco lifted a brow at Harry and sipped his tea. Harry chuckled.

"Will she really stay in Denmark?"

"Don't be daft. She loathes Denmark. She'll be back in a week complaining about the lack of bathtubs and the excessive amount of fish."

"Pity."

Draco placed his teacup on the counter, and then took Harry's away to join it. "Now. I believe you mentioned something about practice?" He moved into Harry's arms.

"Practice makes perfect," Harry murmured.

"Well, then. We shall have to keep practising until we get there."

Harry kissed him. He was pretty sure they already were.

THE END! :D


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